Hank walked into the town as the wind blew the leaves onto the paved tarmac, and then off into the autumn grey. The streets were deserted. You could not hear or see anything but the swing of a porch door, the frenzied chewing of a bone by the brown dog on the kerb. He'd heard it was bad, but Hank had no idea of what he would encounter when he first walked into Rokinsaw, America's first quarantined Facebook addiction zone.
The helicopter swooped overhead and nearly blew his cowboy hat away. One of the occupants, wearing a flak jacket labelled SWOT, leaned heavily as if he were about to fall off. It didn't help that he took a few moments to adjust his spectacles, before adjusting the loudspeaker and saying "This is a restricted zone. You are not to walk around here without permission!".
Suddenly all mayhem broke loose. The dog that had been chewing at the bone started barking fiercely, and the porch doors swung open. All the people who had just updated their Facebook statuses marched towards Hank, arms stretched outwards. Hank turned as if to run, but only succeeded in tripping over the dog, which was now biting his leg. The helicopter had moved off, as if our hero was already a lost cause. As more and more people surrounded Hank, he tried to get up but found himself surrounded. There was nowhere to go. He screamed, and the people suddenly put their hands into their pockets. The one nearest him was the first to speak. It was unclear what he was saying at first, because it was muffled and yet loud at the same time. "Here" he said. "I've just updated my Facebook page. Do you like it?"
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