“Who’s going to pay for the door?”, I asked the two goons, because there’s always two goons. One big, one small.
“Your kind don’t deserve doors”, spat the larger of the two goons. This confused me, and the other goon. “Shut up”, mumbled the big goon, “you know what I mean.”
“Right. You owe the company a lot of money. We’re here to collect”, said the smaller goon.
“What for?”
“Copyright infringement. You’ve cost our company a lot in lost revenue. We’re here to shut down your little operation.”
“What operation? I don’t copy anything, I’m not a pirate.”
“I’m talking about that sweet little stall you got goin’ at the market. Fresh, local produce – my ass. It’s stolen, and you know it.”
“I make all that stuff myself.”
“Our company says otherwise.”
“What?”
“Your yoghurt illegally reproduces the company’s intellectual property. You’ve been reproducing our company’s strain of lactobacillus without a licence.”
“Damn, I always knew you’d find me one day. You’ll never take me alive!”