It takes him long time, but eventually Simon is able to explain. A computer is a magical box that provides endless pleasure for free. Simon is used to constant access to this box—a never-ending flow of pleasures. When the box stops working—or even just briefly slows down—he becomes so enraged that he curses our God, the one who gave us life and brought us forth from Egypt. “

It’s Time Warner,” he tells me. “They’re the fucking worst.”

He bangs his fist against his desk.

“How am I supposed to get work done without Internet?”

I glance at his computer machine. I am still learning about modern technologies. But I am pretty sure from looking at it that Simon has not been doing “work.” There are three boxes open on screen. In first, there is sports scores. In second, there is pornographies. In third, there is Simon’s own name, typed into thing called Google.