Duke sat staring at the flashing cursor on the blank screen in front of him – it just blinked and blinked and blinked again: no inspiration, just that constant, cold blinking. He began to wonder what he thought he was doing trying to write a pop song on a laptop. He'd always just scribbled things down or spoken notes into a recorder, but here he was trying something new: something fresh, he told himself. It wasn't working.
He grabbed his phone and looked at all the random text messages. There were countless numbers from all varieties of pseudo-friends and fans alike. As he scrolled through them he was reminded of the lush opportunities he had there at his fingertips. All he needed was to respond to any one of them and he'd have company: he'd have a good time: but he'd still be lacking the
