A pretty woman with fake Dior sunglasses, skintight clothes, and sharply arched, penciled-in eyebrows strode into a pawn shop at NE Second Avenue and Tenth Street. Her name was Joy, she said warily, and she was there to make a deal. Her face looked younger than its 41 years, but her cracked and dry hands showed her age — and then some. She placed a tattered box on the counter, and an expressionless man on the other side opened it, then peered at the blue, wireless Internet router nestled inside. Behind him hung a sign in red and green letters that read: "It Is Not Our Responsibility to Remind Customers About Due... More >>>