Boy Obsessed with Catcher in the Rye Thinks All His Friends Are Fake as Fuck

Notable loner and College sophomore Harrison Shawfield was spotted last Monday smoking a cigarette outside Saxbys during a torrential downpour. “Have you ever noticed how fake people are?” Shawfield inquired after beckoning us over through the curtain of rain.

Shawfield hails from Westchester, New York, where he spends most of his time alone or with his family. “I had friends, but I decided they didn’t really understand me,” Shawfield explained. “It’s like, they never quite got why I would agree to hang out with them and then just loom silently in the corner while everyone else mingled. I couldn’t pretend—I saw right through their masks. I need something real for once.”

Shawfield was unimpressed by our attempts to learn more about him. “Why are we bothering with these formalities?” he snapped. “Nobody really talks anymore. I don’t want to hear about your day; I don’t want to know your major—tell me about your childhood trauma or let’s just end this now.”

“See this cigarette?” Shawfield said. “Every day I wake up and make a list of all the ways people have wronged me in life. Then I roll it up, light it with the eternal flame of resentment burning behind my eyes, and smoke it alone on this corner.” Shawfield pulled us closer. “Look—number seven: Mom and Dad gave me an iPod Nano instead of an iPod Touch for my Bar Mitzvah.”

Shawfield gazed at the ground intensely, as if searching for solutions to unanswerable questions. “If only someone could feel as deeply and profoundly as I do,” he muttered to himself. “Conversation over.” Shawfield disappeared slowly into High Rise Field.