"Almost there," he said and then dragged himself to a sitting position next to the smashed shards of his MacBook in the alleyway beneath his former lover’s window. He watched the last few hours of the night drain from the sky. He’d turned his phone silent at first. Annoyed by the buzzing, he stuck it face down in a puddle. It shook violently for a moment, then nothing. This was a new version of Ludwig. The last version, he resolved.
Of course, even at that moment of resolution he was consumed by the notion that somewhere a comment burped its way into casual ignorance. Somewhere a tweet violated all logical constraints. Even then, at rock bottom, Ludwig was throbbing with a sense of digital duty. Whatever the consequences to his psyche, a greater truth reverberated as if strummed on a primal chord. There was a reason, thought Ludwig, he’d found his way through the wormholes of irrelevance to those smarter web sites, those elite receptacles of content and opinion. And there was a reason he’d ascended so quickly to the higher ranks, earning star votes and upvotes like a valiant general might have in some more venerable era. Ludwig knew, by sheer tug at his very soul: somewhere, someone was wrong on the internet.