A guy sits in a call center collective of raters. Some would say sweatshop, but they don't know about the bandwidth. And if they did they'd pay the collective for a chance to sweat.
The raters screen is alite with stacks of windows. His picotech keyboard hums beneath his ceaseless drumming fingers.
His job is to sift through all the junk for his clients. He is the broker. Most of his clients are straight subscription jobs. He spends his day scanning the webstream for jokes or jobs or naked celebrities, though that channel has taken a hit recently; it seemed to him that celebrities never seemed to wear anything these days. Maybe it was some kind of thing they were doing just to screw with the industry. But hell, there were worse Hollywood fads that could be.
Not only was he a broker, but he microblogged the whole thing. His thoughts came to his finger tips. New article by bob started to make it's way around...going to add that to the Fringe. His computer, reading his text, instinctively copied the webstream address to his tin-hat club for men channel called the Fringe.
-- Mobile and Free
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