Digital Diversion 2
The Trident Plan
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Chapter 2 First Briefings
Jim met Samuel at a battered old café that had lived several lives: a bookstore, watch repair shop, now a place that sold coffee strong enough to wake the dead. The weather was mild, so they took their drinks outside, the terrace half-shaded by a crooked awning.
Samuel looked almost exactly as he had in school: crisp haircut, clean lines in his clothes, posture like he’d been ironed. Jim felt rumpled beside him.
After a few minutes of catching up, Samuel cut to the chase.
“So,” he said, “you’re thinking about getting back on the digital smack.”
Jim snorted. “You make it sound worse than alcohol.”
“Not comparing. Just saying: addiction is addiction. They’ve got programs for gambling, phones, you name it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Games aren’t any different. Especially from gambling. So go in with your eyes open.”
Jim nodded, feeling the warning settle somewhere low in his stomach.
Samuel shifted gears. “Writing’s a different beast. First tip? Forget old-school blogging. It’s dead. Especially game blogging. Join a community first. Build from there. Doing it alone is… lonely.”
“All right.”
“And then,” Samuel said, lowering his voice theatrically, “prepare to meet the Violator.”
“What’s that?”
“You never read Spawn? The Violator is my nickname for A.I.—large language models. They let any clown crank out mountains of mediocre content for pennies on the dollar. Quality doesn’t matter when buyers only care about cheap.”
Jim winced. “I’m sorry. That must’ve hit your side gigs.”
“Flattened them in six months.” Samuel shrugged. “I’ll survive. But listen, writing’s too big to cover in one coffee. You’re going to have days when the blinking cursor feels like it’s drilling into your skull. When that happens, call me. I’ll help however I can.”
“Thanks, man. Really.”
Jim grabbed the tab before Samuel could protest, and they parted ways. Samuel to send cold-call emails, Jim to walk toward the university district where Marge taught art classes.
Jim walked away believing he had guidance. Samuel walked away knowing he’d just watched a man step onto thin ice.
The stroll gave Jim time to chew on Samuel’s warnings. Gaming. Writing. A.I. The whole landscape had shifted while he’d been trying to stay clean.
He reached the campus bulletin board, a chaotic collage of flyers, and was scanning for Marge’s class schedule when she appeared beside him as if conjured.
“Hi there,” she said. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”
Jim startled. “That makes two of us. I mean, I came looking for your classes, but I didn’t think we’d run into each other. Yet.”
Marge watched him with her head tilted, a small, unreadable smile. She wore a tastefully oversized sweater, chinos, and had short hair streaked with color, artsy without trying.
“So,” she said, “when did you get interested in sketching and painting?”
Jim explained the “Trident Plan,” Samuel’s advice, the whole attempt at balance.
“That’s a lot to take on,” she said. “But it makes sense if you’re trying not to obsess. Is this from Group?”
“Yeah. Counselors said to find activities.”
“Well, the classes are open-door. But steady attendance helps both of us. So only start when you’re really ready.”
Jim nodded, taking the flyer she offered.
“Thanks for the chat,” he said. “I’ll see you in class.”
“Good luck with the Trident Plan,” she said, her smile widening just enough to be kind without promising anything.
Jim tucked the flyer into his pocket, feeling oddly full. The day had given him exactly what he needed. Guidance. Structure. A path.
Marge watched him go, hands in her sweater pockets, expression unreadable. She’d seen plenty of people start strong.
Jim felt steady, convinced. She wasn’t ready to believe it yet.
He walked on, confident the plan was taking shape.
But from the outside, he already looked like someone trying to balance on something that wasn’t built to sit still.
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