Does anyone get up on time?
What he does on a Saturday evening.
What does he do on a Saturday? He wakes up, late for you, but normal for him. He never gets up on time. His first two thoughts come to him immediately: he pulls on socks to avoid walking on the ground and goes to tend the mushroom he found growing out of the crack that runs the length of his room, and probably the foundation too.
He isn’t good at waiting, so he will always be the first person to arrive, and the last to leave (as cliché as it is.) He wanders to venue to venue, the sun having set long ago, but only just after he got up, chain-smoking cigarettes that he put on his credit card. Free money, for now.
He does not use social media, on purpose. His conscience cannot handle that. He knows that anyone- even someone who completely detests the new false realities that rule our attention spans- can slip deeply into the world of code, backlit screens, and manufactured realities. He spends him time drinking, with his friends and his flip phone, at a bar that doesn’t even take card, without a slot machine, digital screen, or wifi, and afterwards, when comes in from the cold, he tends to his blossoming mushroom.