(TL;DR at the bottom)
Have you ever fallen off your bike/skateboard/rollerskates/wiggleboard with your Airpod Pros in, listening to the latest rendition of WAP (We Adore Poptarts) by KidzBop and the next thing you know they're halfway down the road, your chin's scrapped and you just want your mama? Then, when you've finally regained consciousness in this extremely precarious situation, you meet the gaze of Karen, speeding down the cul-de-sac in her '08 Prius--but it's not her eyes; it's daytime running lights at night.
In a fog, you look upon her plate number that says N0VIN0PH0BE just long enough to notice that she hasn't seen you. You wore all black today, just as you usually do, and with the Thrasher logo on your hoodie kissing the asphalt, it's no wonder she couldn't see you. In the next five seconds you'll be just like poor-Mrs. Lori-from-down-the-street's cat. You need to act. Fast.
With reflexes quicker than all of those 74-year-old's cats combined, you roll. You don't care how, don't care where, you just know you're not meeting the big J-man tonight. You saw it in a movie once, maybe twice? but definitely not thrice. You know the moves instinctually; all those games of PUBG Mobile have honed you. You're a survivor.
You make your move. You know Karen doesn't slow down except for when the pool boy's taken his shirt off as he mows Uncle Owen's lawn. Time is of the essence.
CRUNCH.
You clench your eyes tight, and your butthole tighter--you don't want your innards leaking out before you could tell Siri to dial 911. Touching your chest, your legs, your butt, you don't feel anything but the scrapes on your knees. Your eyes open in the twilight of your life and you come to the best, or worst, realization: you're alive.
The Barcelona Red Metallic Prius didn't even stop. She just honked and, presumably, flipped you off. On your feet now, your scratches and grazes may sting, but nothing competes to the pain you feel in your chest.
That crunch was your Airpods Pro charging case.
Picking it up and wiping a tear from your face, you thank the heavens Steve and you got matching Surpeme silicon cases.
Now as you scour for the tiny toothbrush earplugs on the street, you wish that they were white. And they were. You found them in seconds.
But now, together with your bruised elbows and ego, you have scratched up and scuffed Airpod Pros. "What will Mom think when she sees me at the dining table listening to Trav's latest remix with these? What could I do?" you say.
Well my friend, I have a proposition for ya. You could sell those bruised, scuffed, ugly--yet perfectly working--Airpods to me. I have cash, you need bud, and you can just share a pod with Saul whenever you're too gone to and need to bump some Sicko Mode.
I have $150 with your name on it. That can get you hella pre-rolls and puff bars. Think about it.
Please PM me with your offers and a timestamped photo of the serial numbers.
Thank you for your time!
TL;DR - [H] $150 shipped (negotiable) in PayPal [W] Used Airpods Pro
