We don’t talk about that night. The Guy apologies by buying me a computer. Just bros fucking bros, amirite? I even have a desk! This is a “tiny happiness” for me. This is my “office” where I write dangerous material. Not the kind anyone can see, ever. I used to share it, but then people tried to kill me, so I stopped. Write passwords hidden inside EXIF data invisible to the naked eye. It’s not guaranteed safety but it’s — well it’s mine. It’s another internet shrine all my own.