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Crowe finds Ben in his usual spot, usual time, sipping a latte and reading the New York Times online.

Duane pulls out the chair across from him and sits down.

Ben looks over the computer top. “Good morning.”

“No, it isn’t,” Duane answers. “It’s going to be a very bad morning. Monopoly money?”

Ben smiles.

“If you didn’t have the money this month,” Duane says, “you should have just said so. We could have worked out a payment plan.”

“I have a payment plan,” Ben says. “My plan is not to make any more payments.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Ben says, “I’m not paying anymore.”

“Then you’re out of business.”

Ben shrugs.

“We’ll put you under the jail,” Crowe says. “All those charges can be reinstated. And we’ll just bust you over and over and over again.”

Ben says nothing.

His version of passive resistance.

He calls it “Verbal Gandhism.”

(“The other guy can’t play tennis,” Ben explained to Chon one time, “if you don’t hit the ball back.”

“He can’t play tennis,” Chon answered, “if you shoot him in the head, either.”)

Duane stares at Ben for a second, then gets up and walks out.

Verbal Gandhism works.

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