"No! And in fact, I would love for you to know that the subject of insomnia, sure as fuck is a sore one."

       The telephone had pissed him off. Computer and television screens both smashed atop their old resting places. Visitors, they didn't stand a chance of recognition. A knock at the door meant about as much to him, as more pussy did to Hue Hefner.

           He wasn't a bad guy. Most called him a prick or said he was a bitter man. It's only because he had more so enjoyed keeping to himself than he did sharing gossip or simple hellos' through the grapevine of everyday conversations. Chosing to not fill the limited brain space, allowed, with irrelevant facts or names. Repetative, everyday non-sense.

       Many really didn't see the need as to why they had even shunned him. It wasn't so much as a "olden-days" banning that took place, but more so a more modern cold shoulder amongst the town population and the everyday working man or any other normal New Jersey resident at the time.