Updated: Jul 2, 2018
I’m a writer by trade, but bylines don’t bring in much cash. And I still want to eat, sleep indoors, and pay for things like cell phone credit.
In South East Asia, I finally struck gold: used phones. My first cell phone ever, a chunky powder blue number that elicited my first full-blown hissy fit in an electronics store over hundreds in hidden fees. My first smartphone, a slick Blackberry, patriotic nod to the reliably underperforming Canadian icon. The iPhone 3, just for apps. All lolling at unhealthy angles from their curled chargers in my suitcase of life, and each worth cold hard cash. Or at least crumpled hand-warmed Malaysian Ringgit, if also a puzzlingly unavailable telephonic status to family and friends. Read More