It is 5 am, and the insomnia has set in hard and fast. Time to dig in for the long haul; get ready to face that glimmering ball of pain known as the sun. Pull the blinds. Stuff a towel under the door. Light a smoke, crack a beer, and get ready for the savage introspection.

The Hermit Hacker dresses completely in black. Most of the hair has been forceably removed from his body, but a persistant 5 o'clock shadow remains. An old stereo plays The Swans or maybe Portishead. Clothing litters the floor. Books lie on tables and dressers, half read. There is no illumination save for the dull glow of an LCD screen and an alarm clock.

The Hermit Hacker hasn't moved or so much as blinked in over an hour.

The Hermit Hacker is currently thinking about Camus, Serial Experiments Lain, Infomercials, and other dark thoughts. A frown broods under his nose. One might even go so far to say that the HH (Hermit Hacker) is Angsting, but not out loud for fear of irritating him further.

The HH decides that the net can survive without him for a few hours, and wanders into the kitchen to get something high in nitrates to consume. This may include, hotdogs, taquitos, Hot Pockets, Fritos(TM), chocolate ice cream, or tuna salad with extra mayo. Of course, eating is simply a way to occupy the mind for a time so that it doesn't have to concentrate on other less tastefull subjects.

The HH lives alone. This is not altogether unusual considering his chosen vocation. Intelligence does better when left to it's own devices, right? That is what he has been told his whole life and he believes it... to a point.

This node is a work in progress.

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