/ 10 Comedyview...: 6.7

"It’s a respectable score, Gar," his manager, Marty, said, while aggressively peeling a hard-boiled egg. "It’s a high C. It’s the 'Honda Civic' of ratings. Reliable. Safe."

"I don’t want to be a Honda Civic, Marty," Gary whispered. "I want to be a Ferrari. Or at least a mid-sized SUV with seat warmers." 6.7 / 10 ComedyView...

He tossed his prepared setlist aside. "You know what’s a 6.7? My life. I have a gym membership I use exactly twice a month—6.7. My relationship with my father is cordial but lacks a third-act resolution—6.7. I once bought a 'World's Okayest Brother' mug, and I felt seen." "It’s a respectable score, Gar," his manager, Marty,

Inside the green room, Gary stared at that number on his phone. 6.7. It was the statistical equivalent of a shrug. It was "fine." It was "I didn’t hate it, but I’ve already forgotten your name." Reliable

Gary smiled. He realized that in a world of 1s and 10s, being a 6.7 meant he was the only thing everyone could agree on. He picked up his "World's Okayest Brother" mug, took a sip of lukewarm coffee, and felt—for the first time in years—perfectly adequate.

The neon sign for "The Guffaw Gallery" flickered, casting a sickly yellow light over the sidewalk. On the brick wall outside, a laminated poster featured a comedian named Gary "The Grin" Gable, accompanied by a bold, red stamp:

The next morning, Gary refreshed the ComedyView app. His heart hammered against his ribs. The new rating sat at the top of the page, glowing in a modest shade of orange.