Now, all that remained was a vinyl record they hadn’t owned a player for since the Clinton administration, and a scratched CD that skipped on the line “Regrets, I’ve had a few.” Every time it skipped, Arthur flinched.
…44%… 67%…
The website was a graveyard of neon green text and pop-up ads for things he was too polite to read. His cursor trembled as he typed:
The crime: downloading an MP3.
His grandson, Leo, had tried to help. “Just stream it, Gramps. Spotify. Or YouTube. It’s free.”
The target: My Way by Frank Sinatra.
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