Leo agreed. He went to his own bank, withdrew $3,000 in crisp twenties—his entire "rainy day" fund—and loaded the cassettes. He set the fee at $3.50.
Should we focus the next part on Leo to riskier locations, or does he run into trouble with a competitor moving onto his turf? buy cash machine
Leo didn't put it in a bank. He didn't put it in a mall. He called "Big Sal," the owner of a dive bar called The Rusty Anchor that only took cash and had a jukebox that played exclusively 90s country. Leo agreed
"Ten percent of the surcharges," Sal grumbled, wiping a glass. "And you handle the refills. I don't want to touch the thing." Should we focus the next part on Leo
$3.50 sounds like nothing. But The Rusty Anchor was the only place for three blocks that sold late-night pierogies. By month three, Leo had made his $400 back. By month six, he bought a second machine for a local barbershop. By the end of the year, Leo realized he wasn't a printer repairman anymore. He was a ghost in the machine, moving paper from the bank to the bar, and keeping a tiny, silver slice of every transaction for himself.