"Hey, bud," he said.
"Who, me?" I replied.
"Shhhhhhhhh," he said, paranoid, looking around.
"Who, me?" I replied, whispering.
He leaned in close and said, "Would you like to buy a Rattenkonig?"
"A Rattenkonig. A rat-king. A group of rats, linked together by tails. They're said to share a mind. It's a semi-mythical cryptozoological collective."
I noticed something moving under his coat. Maybe a mass of rats.
"Actually," I replied, "That sounds pretty disgusting."
"Your loss," he said, shiftily.
"Hey, didn't I see you, a long time back, in a monster-filled New York barrio, selling the letter O?"
"That was a long time ago, and nobody would ever pay more than a nickel for them. I got out of that racket."
"And you got into this market instead? You're just stuck to the shady-trenchcoat-guy deals market, aren't you?"
"I'm not stuck at all. There are times when a person makes a decision to be helpless or self-directing, and either choice is self-fulfilling. Not always, but enough that it's worth noting. You can't really blame the rats, but I know if I were a rat, I'd try to walk away before I got tied up."