When he got out of the shower, his apartment was pretty dark. The sun had gone down. It was easier to be angry than sad about. He swore. He stuck his head out the door to see what was left of the light and went back in and made himself some dinner. He cut up a hot dog into a bowl of black beans and had fun repeating the name of the brand of beans while he heated it. “Goya Goya Goya.” It sounded like someone Godzilla would fight. He sat at the kitchen table in his underwear and drank a hard cider while he ate and tried not to think about girls getting raped by soldiers in Bosnia.   It was only quarter to eight by the time he finished, so he went to see if his favorite shirt wasn’t so wrinkled that he could wash it before he went out or maybe just spray some Old Spice on the pits and the collar, but he stopped to check his email first. There was one from Annie, but she didn’t say anything about that .php job. He wrote back and tried to get her to come out. She was probably still on the computer so he figured he’d look at that wedding-DJ thing again while he waited for her to reply. Didn’t sound so bad. It probably included free drinks. They were weddings, after all. Well, maybe free food at least. He tried writing back but everything he said sounded dumb and unprofessional, so he saved the message and looked at Pedro’s pictures again. Germany looked great. That girl was so hot. Maybe he could stay with P’s friend if he could get the money to go over there. Next fall, maybe. But it’s never really a good idea to sleep with your host’s sister, probably. German girls made him think of Nina Hagen, so he opened a couple file-sharing programs and did a quick search. He found New York, New York and then a couple others he didn’t recognize, so he started downloading them and then checked to see if anything new was on Slashdot. Just something about a new Mozilla update. Did people care about that shit? Yeah, they did. Sometimes he did too. Just on impulse he checked Craigslist to see if there were any good deals. The rough grey seat of his office chair was starting to make his legs and the parts of his butt behind the holes in his underwear itch. He shifted and scratched. Crap, crap. Nothing, but he kept looking. There must be about ten million futons waiting to be bought by someone at any given moment. Just like how the average number of people on airplanes is bigger than the population of some town in Iowa. What was the name of the town? It was on a sign in a restaurant at the airport. He’d have to check the next time he flew anywhere. Maybe when he went to Germany. People sure wanted a lot for their hit-up old iPods. He was about to close out and go check on his shirt when he stopped and sat up real quick. Someone wanted to buy five Dreamcasts. What the hell did they need five of them for? Were they for real? When did they post it? Just that afternoon. He clicked on the link. hi my friends and i need blah blah blah, no one used capital letters anymore. Yeah, he wanted to buy five. Dustin wondered if Rioga still had some of those Dreamcasts his cousin got on the skid from that warehouse that closed in Japan. He decided to call him. Germany was too close to Bosnia anyway. Plus, it was Germany.