Birthweek of a Hikikomori

In this audacious and honest debut, a college student’s life in New York City serves as a satirical endorsement of modern life everywhere. Collin finds the self-service kiosks at McDonald’s consistent and calming in an otherwise chaotic world. He stands before one, swiping through the interactive menu as a way to ground himself more firmly in his reality—a reality of video games, posting furniture on Craigslist, and chatting with strangers on Discord. He mutters, “No man is an island,” and then realizes he hasn't spoken out loud since he last said, “semipermeable membrane."

As Collin's internet-laden days transition into night, he dreams of a deity descending from the hillside to issue humanity a new challenge. These range from the oddly specific (Place 400 million kilograms of human hair within the walls of Beijing's Forbidden City) to the ethically daunting (Sacrifice three lives or renounce all understanding of entropy) to the brutally candid (Everyone must broadcast a confessional podcast admitting their most egregious act), and so on. The challenges focus Collin's fragmented attention on a single question: should life be lived directly or vicariously? Collin observes, wakes up, and lives another day. Collin observes, wakes up, and lives another day. And another. And another. For a week.