Two men, well-to-do shopkeepers meeting for a pint of ale in a small town tavern at the end of a long day:
“What do you want that many nails for, anyway? Someone in town have a building project I don’t know about?”
“Abadarans on the radio say they’re selling for twice the normal price in Westpool for some reason. Figure I’ll send the kid down with a few sacks, get a piece of the deal while the going is good.”
“You and your fucking radio. You know the Abadarans are just making it all up, right? There’s no way they actually have someone checking the prices all over the place.”
“They’re Abadarans, of course they do.”