I quit that night, bought three packs of cigarettes—and finally understood the silence between neon lights and regret

I don’t play to win. I watch to feel.

It was 2:17 a.m., and the fluorescent glow of the convenience store flickered like a dying neon sign above the subway entrance. Three packs of cigarettes. No dice rolled. No jackpot triggered. Just me, the hum of a vending machine, and the quiet pulse of someone else’s loneliness.

I used to think this was entertainment—a digital race where cars roared and霓虹 sparks flew. But now? I know better.

The real risk isn’t losing money—it’s forgetting why you came here in the first place.

At BuzzFeed News, they taught us to optimize engagement: click-through rates, retention curves, A/B tests on user behavior. We called it ‘content strategy.’ But none of it mattered if no one remembered your name.

I left my job because they measured success by clicks—not by breaths.

There are no hidden bonuses here—only invisible ones: the silence after laughter, the space between texts, the way someone stares at their reflection in a puddle after midnight.

You didn’t need to buy into the system. You just needed to be seen before you disappeared.

Tonight, I bought three packs of cigarettes—not because I wanted to smoke, but because I needed something warm before walking home alone.