Read from the beginning at I Don’t Own My Likeness 1.
Do Vesta
“You’re doing what now?” Joe asked, one hand buried in a greasy bag of chips.
Vince didn’t look up from his phone, just reached over to the coffee table, grabbed a wad of napkins, and dropped them into his best friend’s lap. He’d spent the last half hour scrolling through a queue of video requests, and he’d felt the beginnings of a callus forming on his right thumb. Birthday wishes. Anniversary congratulations. A shout out to a guy retiring from thirty years in the Navy who “salutes like Captain Vesta.” That one had five stars already.
“It’s called LinePlease,” Vince said, finally glancing over at Joe, who had upended the empty bag of chips and was tapping the remaining crumbs into his mouth. “It’s a gig thing. Fans pay for custom videos. I record a little message, send it in, and they cry, or laugh, or post it online, or whatever.
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