Lucy sighed a put-upon
Lucy sighed a put-upon, sophisticated, American sigh. “Look at it this way. Most of the world is living on like a dollar a day. I spend five dollars every day on a frappuccino. Some days, I get two! Dad sends mom three thousand a month in child-support — that’s a hundred bucks a day. So if a day’s money here is a hundred dollars, then to a African or whatever my wow gold is worth like five hundred dollars. And I buy two or three every day.
“Nice one, Anda.”
“Three o’clock,” she said, and aimed the BFG again. More snipers pat-patted in bits around the forest floor.
“So that’s what I think is going on. There’s someone out there, some Saudi or Japanese guy or Russian mafia kid wow gold so rich that this is just chump change for him, and he’s paying us to mess around with some other rich person. To them, we’re like the Africans making a dollar a day to craft — I mean, sew — t-shirts. What’s a wow gold hundred bucks to them? A cup of coffee.”
Anda thought about it. It made a kind of sense. She’d been on hols in Bratislava where they got a posh hotel wow gold for ten quid — less than she was spending every day on sweeties and fizzy drinks.
“And we’re not rich! There’s craploads of rich people who wouldn’t think twice about spending five hundred bucks on a coffee — how much do you think a hotdog and a Coke go for on the space station? A thousand bucks!
“Thanks, Sarge.”
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