“Oh yeah, it’s ridiculous. You just walk in with a semigood idea and the skills to code it, and you can walk out with more than enough money to live off,” he says. “There’s really no reason to get a degree or go work for a company anymore, when they’re so ready to fund, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, twisting the edge of my notebook. “But what about when it runs out?”

“Yeah, do you ever worry about that?” Sara asks.

“Hmmm?” Brett looks up from joint he is rolling. Apparently he is too impatient to let the bong come back around to him.

“Like with the dot-com bubble,” I say. “What if that happens again?”

“I’m really not worried about it.” He picks up the Zippo and lights the joint. After a long drag, he continues. “Sure, this could fail. But I also could work my ass off at a Fortune 500 just for another recession to hit. And all of a sudden that good, stable job doesn’t look so stable anymore.”

Braden hands me the bong again, and I pass it to Sara without a word. No one seems to care that I’m not smoking, but a part of me still feels uncomfortable. I reach for my beer.

Brett continues to talk about the benefits of start-ups and the anachronism that is a college degree while he hooks his computer up to the Apple TV. He doesn’t say anything I haven’t heard a million times before, about how many dropouts are now millionaires and billionaires. He also carefully doesn’t talk about the dropouts that are now living paycheck to paycheck or frantically searching through classified ads for anything that doesn’t require a degree.

“Okay, let’s see this thing y’all are making then.” He hands the computer to Braden. The screen is now in sync with the TV and the app store is pulled up. “Make me an account. Help me find a supermodel or whatever.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Braden downloads the app and accepts the terms and conditions within seconds. “I’m gonna hook it up to your Facebook and use your profile picture,” he says. “Makes it quicker.”

Braden selects “man interested in women” without pausing to ask Brett how he identifies. I frown.

He then types what Brett dictates for his bio, a few sentences about himself—Brett chooses to highlight his high school alma mater, his status as a start-up founder and his love of all things green, “money and otherwise.” And just like that, he’s now part of the search to find a perfect 10. Or I guess, to become a perfect 10? I’m honestly not sure what the name is supposed to imply. Maybe I should start reading the marketing materials Braden keeps sharing with me on Google Drive.

The welcome screen of our app loads, featuring a large red button that says: Find Me a 10.