He needed cash, and he'd collected a lot of experiences in his life, so he took some of them to a Used Experience Store and tried to sell them.
The proprietor went through the experiences with the chill haste of the unsentimental expert. Then she said, "I'm afraid these aren't worth much. They're very common."
He didn't believe she was afraid.
He was tempted to protest but he knew doing so would only enhance humiliation.
She said, "I can't give you any cash, but I could give you a bit of credit to use as trade for other experiences in our store."
He said No Thanks and packed up his experiences in the brown cardboard box (with faded red lettering) of his memory and went home and felt bad about his life, parts of which had seemed vivid and rare to him before today.
His place felt cold and drab. He experienced that. He had no idea what experience he should have next. He didn't really give a shit one way or the other now.