ABSTRACT
The dude with no life spends most of his time in a faintly lit office, chugging cheap coffee from Styrofoam cups and training his glazed eyes on indecipherable diagrams. His hair is mussed, he couldn’t tell the Ocean’s 11 cast from the Jackson Five, and he hasn’t been out on a date with his wife in months. […] You see this figure, staring at his screen, looking pretty much like a zombie—and just grinding away. 1
