Project Time

I sit down at my desk again and open my project from the previous evening. My mind picks up where it left off, and before long I'm digging into business laws, markets, and trying to identify a consumer for my new application. Probably should have done that first, in hindsight.

I read through my state business laws, then federal. I do a quick once-over of the IRS rules. After a couple of hours, I've created a company to do business under, created a business checking account, and copyrighted my software. I've also identified a niche market that could use a data scraping tool like mine, plus some tweaks, and I write up a proposal of the application and what type of revenue it could receive.

Normally, I might try to make a go of it myself. That's what most people would do. But my mind has other ideas. I manage to list the software for sale as a white-label product on a software marketplace and initiate a bidding sale on it. I use that link and my earlier research to spread the sale out across forums in the target market, and before long I gather some interest.

As the bidding continues, I continue my studies. I dive into sophomore-level computer science content, chewing threw it as easily as I had the previous content until I get a notification on my computer. A message on the marketplace website, from a potential buyer.

"Hi, I'm interested in your software. I'd like to be the software, outright, with all that entails. A simple handover. I have my own developer that will finish the project. Are you interested?"

I grin. This is exactly what I'd hoped for. The bidding was a fallback option, but I was barely at a few hundred dollars yet.

"I'm interested. What's your offer?" I message back.

"Five thousand via buy-out on the auction. I can submit the buy-out offer with the updated terms if you agree."

Five thousand dollars! While I know I could probably get more, I don't bother. My research has revealed nearly endless business opportunities to repeat this process.

"I accept. Submit the buy-out and I'll process it now. Thanks!"

The person doesn't respond. Instead, I get the promised offer. I accept it, and five thousand minus some fees is wired into my new business bank account. With a grin on my face, I send the buyer everything I promised and thank them for their time.

My mind already races, thinking of what I can do with that money. I think of buying Mom a gift, maybe one for my sisters too, but there is one thing I need more than anything else. More pills.

I check the clock. It's three in the afternoon. I pick up my phone and find the business card that Brad had given me the other day. I dial his number, and he picks up on the second ring.

"Hello? Brad speaking."

"Hey Brad, this is Dom. I wanted to talk to you, about..."

"The pills, yeah? I knew you'd call. It's killer, isn't it?"

"It's... something. Brad, these things are crazy. I learned almost two years' worth of computer science curriculum since yesterday. I wrote a software application and just sold it online. You know what I'm going to ask next."

"How do you get more?"

"Bingo."

"Well, it's easy. I sell them. One thousand a pop."

One thousand dollars each! Holy shit!

"Uh, that's crazy expensive man."

"Yeah, but how much did you sell that software for? We both know you can use the pills to make plenty more than that."

"I guess you're right."

"So, how many do you want?"

"Can I get like four more?"

"Sure, stop by my apartment tomorrow. Texting my address now. I'll have them for you."

"Thanks, Brad. Thanks for everything."

He hangs up, and I rest back in my chair. Now that the conversation is over, I find it a little odd that he wants me to come by his apartment. It seems to me that anyone on these pills like he presumably is would recognize that as a risk. But maybe he just trusts me.

I start to continue studying, but I feel my brain slowing down. Getting tired. It's too soon to take another pill, so I pause my learning for the moment. Good thing, too, as I realize I haven't stood up for almost four hours. I stretch my arms overhead and leave my room, searching for the bathroom.

I piss like a racehorse, and I realize I need to ensure I take breaks. I can't let the nootropic focus me too much. Just as I need to have a background thought process to prevent **** my mind, I need to have a background thought process to remind me to be normal. I wonder if this is how savants feel, but I put the thought aside.

As I finish peeing, I look at myself in the mirror. Still as greasy as yesterday. Unlike yesterday, I feel an overwhelming disgust at the person that stares back at me. Determined, I leave the bathroom and search for Mom.