Hey, my name is Liam Parker. I’m 24 and I live in a cramped one-bedroom apartment in Eugene, Oregon. It’s nothing special. Just enough space for a desk where I work, an old couch that’s seen better days, and a coffee maker that’s starting to sputter every morning like it’s personally offended by my routine. I do it for a small marketing firm, mostly fixing servers, debugging software glitches, and saving people’s computers from their own bad clicks. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills and lets me work from home most days.
I’m the kind of guy who fades into the background at parties. The more crowded it gets, the more I feel out of place. The louder it is, the quicker I want to bail. Last month, I got this wedding invitation in the mail from Brandon, an old college acquaintance. We weren’t close. Just shared a few group projects back in the day, but I guess he was filling out his guest list. I almost RSVPd no social events like that aren’t my thing, but it felt rude to skip it entirely.
