On the day before Christmas last year, a cold northwestern breeze sprinkled dots of snow as Randolph Slim Johnson purchased his first computer. Slim strode out the front door of The Third Dentist Cavalry of Mount Caramel Mission Thrift Pawn, apparently unmindful of the crucifix above his head or the Budweiser sign in the window to his leftmute though eloquent vestiges of the buildings previous tenants. Small arms fire crackled in the near distance as Slim danced adroitly around the two large men fighting viciously and vigorously over a handicapped parking space at the curb. Anticipation quickening his steps, Slim reached his metal-flake candy-plum 1978 Pinto low rider with the three factory spare tires and the Saran-wrap-and-duct tape rear window, though which could barely be seen the official Northeast license plate: a homemade expired fake 30-day tag bearing the likeness of a stick character in a wheelchair. Ignoring the speed limit, Slim pushed the pedal to the metal, and the Pinto squalled north on Belmont Avenue, sending up a cloud of vaporized rubber, momentarily blinding the driver of the Rent-A-Center repo van behind him, which, incidentally, also had three factory spare tires and therefore listed heavily to the left. Moments later, Slim slid to a halt outside his double-wide; drug the computer inside; and, pausing briefly at the kitchen sink for a cold drink of water, with feverish haste began assembling his Radio Shack 386 on the fuchsia mother-of-pearl swirl surrounding the portrait of Elvis in the center of his Formica dining room table. Upon the initial boot of the system, he decided to search the internet for music of his favorite artist, Billy Ray Cyrus. Slim typed the phrases Billy Ray Cyrus and music into a search engine and got the result of most people at that time: a link to Napster, a free site where people can upload and download music of all types. He logged on and downloaded a live copy of Achy Breaky Heart...
