He typed madly, furiously even, on the old, grimy, gray, sweat-covered keyboard. Words swirled in his alcohol and caffeine addled brain like puppies in a mosh-pit.
"This will be hell to edit," he thought sadly, with a touch of remorse.
Suddenly, without warning, he clicked on the internet icon. He knew the location by heart, his fingers knew it, his mouse knew it, too. A writing forum appeared on the screen, covering the madness that was his nascent novel.
"Ah, a diversion," he thought happily, distracted.