Christy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes. Why?”
They drove in silence for the first ten minutes. The woman stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of orange and white. Christy didn’t push. She’d learned that silence was its own kind of language.
One rainy Tuesday evening, Christy picked up a fare from the Amtrak station. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel and wearing a coat too thin for November. She looked like she’d been crying, but not recently—more like the crying had settled into her bones.
Finally, the woman spoke. “Do you ever pick up the same person twice?”
It’s not because we have access to some exclusive deal.
Just like a car manufacturer builds a car and relies on dealers to sell it, software creators develop products and work with retail partners to distribute them.
Major retailers like Best Buy aren’t focused on offering the lowest prices. With many stores, employees, and large overheads, their pricing reflects their operating costs. christy marks taxi
To get big-box stores to carry certain software products, developers often provide wholesale discounts of 34% to 40%.
It’s similar to when Taylor releases a new album—every extra sale takes zero effort.
Now back to Best Buy.
When a developer offers favorable pricing to one retailer, they’re often required by law to extend the same terms to all authorized resellers.
Including Software Keep.
Close
We Had a Choice
One option was to do what Best Buy does: keep around for ourselves and sell it to you at retail.
But this is silly because we don't have the overheads that Best Buy has. That means we can pass some of those savings to you while maintaining a healthy, equitable business.
So that's what we did. It's why you're seeing a
discount today.
Christy Marks Taxi (5000+ ORIGINAL)
Christy glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes. Why?”
They drove in silence for the first ten minutes. The woman stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of orange and white. Christy didn’t push. She’d learned that silence was its own kind of language.
One rainy Tuesday evening, Christy picked up a fare from the Amtrak station. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel and wearing a coat too thin for November. She looked like she’d been crying, but not recently—more like the crying had settled into her bones.
Finally, the woman spoke. “Do you ever pick up the same person twice?”
“Long ride,” Christy said. “Buckle up.”
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