That afternoon, Sheldon sat in Dr. Sturgis’s cluttered garage, watching the older man type commands into a DOS prompt on a beige tower computer.
Mary sighed, pausing the VCR. “What happened this time, Shelly?”
George Sr., walking in with a beer, chuckled. “You bought a bootleg DVD of a show about yourself?”
George took a long sip. “Son, that’s called getting swindled. Happens to everyone.”
He walked home, the imperfect DVDrip still in his pocket—a reminder that even geniuses could be fooled by a fuzzy pixel and a cheap Sharpie.