Ode to the Last True Hermit

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.

Ode to the Last True Hermit

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