The meet was in an easy-to-overlook dive bar called "The Analog Hole." From the look of things, I suspected it was only still open due to an ironic ability to profit off of being, well, shitty and deserted. I managed through a glass and a half of wild expired turkey before my contact showed up. I nodded.
He nodded.
He sat down, and there was a testing gaze, as we both explored the business synergy at play. Once I felt the ice start to thaw, I reached into my tracksuit and pulled out a #8 bubble mailer stuffed with currency. On cue, the bartender disappeared into the back room of the joint, presumably in order to inventory the booze he wasn't selling much of.
I slid it across the table. He picked it up and palpated it gingerly, with the air of a confident surgeon. Satisfied, he reached into his trenchcoat and pulled out a copy of "Wejście Smoka" -- The latest Bruce Lee movie, dubbed into Polish, with English subtitles. With this one masterstroke, my ratio woes on various private torrent sites would cease to trouble me ever again.
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