His chin sank into the cusp of an open palm, while his elbow rested by the side of an open computer. Twitchy fingers drummed the side of his face. Vacant eyes slurped the existential validation off the screen by the most recent. His friends had been everywhere and with everyone, and he nowhere with no-one. They were his friends, at-least that’s what the screen said. He had seven hundred and fifty “friends”, and not one seemed to notice his absence or showed any desire to emphasise their friendship. Each day he was witness to same steady pulse of a thousand photos, and inspired quotes, shared in the hope of appearing unique. He hated them, all of them. He hated them for being happy, for having a reason to be happy. He wanted to be them, in their shoes, beside them, anything like them. He cursed at them, and then he cried. His head fell with the weight of his tears, and he hid them away in the crook of his arm.