“Do you think there’s a downside to buying your own island?” Armin asked, looking at his lottery ticket as he exited the convenience store.
“I don’t think we run the risk of any such dangers,” Dana responded. “Your odds of winning are about the same as me winning ‘America’s Got Talent.’” She unwrapped her straw and stabbed it through the lid of her giant plastic cup.
“What’s your talent?”
“I don’t have one,” she said slurping down her giant soda pop.
“I’m serious though,” he said. “You know how you buy a house and suddenly you’ve got to worry about the roof and water bills and seepage and carbon monoxide and fire insurance?”
“Nope. I’m a renter, through and through. I’ve been thinking about renters’ insurance. I should probably have that, but it’s cheaper just to not own anything nice.”
Armin shook his head. “I’m trying to talk about my island. What do you think are the hidden costs of buying an island?”
“I assure you I have no idea. Pirate insurance?”
“You’re not being really helpful here.”
Dana raised her eyebrow. “Armin,” she said, “You do know I’m not Shakira, right?”
“Does Shakira have an island?”
“She and the Pink Floyd guy bought an island together a few years ago.”
“Huh,” Armin said. “I’m gonna ask her about it on Twitter. You want me to see if she can get you on ‘America’s Got Talent?’”
“Fine,” Dana responded, “but after that we should really focus on selling these drugs.”