From the confines of his mother's basement, Dicky browbeat the world, the internet his steed, his cheeto-and-Red Bull-stained keyboard his lance. 

 The faded lines on the highway were obscured by the driving rain. 

Alice wondered if she'd become agoraphobic or was just lazy.

Harry knew he'd be happy to be nothing more than a historical footnote in some obscure thesis paper. 

Their friendship revolved around putting each other down, drinking, and the deepest, wide-ranging conversations they would ever know (moving in chronological order of their evenings together). 

 That sweet, sweet sound of summer cricket chirps was already coming to an end. 

Eileen had reached the age at which her favorite bands began their nostalgia tours.