One doesn't partake, you see, in the usual trifles: no smoking, no tippling, no illicit substances. Nor does one seek refuge in the raucous clamour of football, or dissolve into those bellowing throngs, all to paper over some existential void. The latest gadget? Utterly beside the point. Catalogued "experiences"? One finds them rather… vulgar. One takes care of oneself, of course. Not out of some tiresome moralistic bent, but purely, you understand, for self-preservation. My singular indulgence — if one must insist on having one — is to think. To read. To doubt...