He moved strictly at night. He said he didn’t know if his parents were alive or dead. He’d not made one phone call or driven in a car or spent any money. He had never in his life sent an e-mail or even seen the Internet.
In my head, I prefer to extend that paragraph to include: He’d never argued with another moron on Twitter. He never fretted about a point release software update or programmed yet another season pass into his DVR. He never screamed at a Time-Warner customer service representative. He never untagged himself, nor knew what that meant. He had no knowledge of his follower count, never pondered crashing a media holiday party, and never — not once, no matter how bitter cold the winter — considered attending CES or Sundance or Art Basel.
Dude lived the dream.