The Thrill of the Market: A Desperate Trader's Tale
As I walked through the bustling streets, I couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation wash over me. My pockets were light, my stomach was growling, and my options for making some quick cash were dwindling by the minute. That's when I spotted him - a shady character hawking his wares on the street corner. He had two bottles of beer, and he wanted 10 rubles for them. I couldn't resist the opportunity to make a deal.
I approached him with a mix of caution and curiosity, eyeing the bottles of beer in his hands. "What's the story here?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He seemed taken aback by my interest, but he quickly regained his composure. "Ah, just trying to make some scratch," he replied, his tone dripping with desperation. I didn't need any more convincing - I was in it for the beer.
I did a little shopping around, comparing prices and weighing my options. The first vendor offered me 13 rubles for two bottles of beer, but that seemed like highway robbery to me. That's when I spotted her - a dark-haired woman with a stand covered in various alcoholic beverages. She caught my eye and beckoned me over, a hint of mischief in her voice. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," she said with a wink.
I showed her the two bottles of beer and asked what she'd give me for them. She named a price of 17 rubles, which was significantly better than what the first vendor had offered. I agreed to the deal, and we shook hands, sealing the transaction. As I left the stand, I felt a sense of satisfaction wash over me - I'd just scored some decent deals on beer.
But my adventure wasn't over yet. I spotted a blue-eyed salesman standing behind his counter, surrounded by an assortment of goods. He seemed to be selling everything from food supplies to clothing, and I was intrigued. Maybe I could find something here that would help me make some real money.
I approached the salesman, who greeted me with a flat, fake enthusiasm. "Welcome to my store," he said, his voice lacking any real warmth. "My prices aren't steep." I eyed his wares skeptically, but my curiosity got the better of me. What did he have that I needed?
As I browsed through his selection, I spotted something that caught my eye - a special field uniform with survival gear attached to it. The price tag read 1200 rubles, plus an additional 7 survival points, which seemed like a pretty good deal to me. But then I saw the tire armor, and my mind was blown. This guy had everything I needed.
I haggled with the salesman, trying to get the best deal possible. He seemed willing to negotiate, but only up to a point. I eventually settled on a price of 136 rubles for the thorny armor, which included fire resistance and some other goodies. Not bad, not bad at all.
But that wasn't the end of my negotiations. The salesman had something else that caught my eye - a leather breastplate, plus an additional 10 survival points. He wanted 60 rubles for it, but I knew I could get more than that elsewhere. So, I asked him if he'd be willing to trade me some other goods in exchange. After a few minutes of haggling, we agreed on a deal - I'd give him 14 rubles for my old ammo, and he'd throw in the leather breastplate.
As I walked away from the stand, I felt a sense of satisfaction wash over me. That was it for me - I'd done my shopping, made some deals, and come out on top. Now, all I had to do was head back to the hotel, grab a bite to eat, and maybe run into that depressed father who lived nearby. But for now, I was content with my spoils.
As I turned the corner onto the main street, I spotted a familiar figure standing on the sidewalk. It was the blue-eyed salesman, still lingering in the shadows. He seemed tired, almost defeated, but he smiled weakly at me as I passed by. "Thanks for doing business," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded sympathetically and continued on my way, leaving him to his troubles. My adventure was over, but I knew that there were always new opportunities waiting around the corner - if you're willing to take risks, that is.