You work for a start-up in Silicon Valley — at which there is no dress code, hence, your preference for khaki shorts and a somewhat provocative and mildly racist Sombero — making $109,000 a year, affording you the high-grade marijuana you consume 4 to 5 times a week while listening to Jack Johnson and Ben Harper in your Jeep Wrangler either in rush hour or in front of the ocean. You non-strategically don’t text girls back. The casual entitlement of your seemingly directionless open-toed gait is only clarified by the constant “s’all good, brah” you apply to every situation you are 15 minutes late for.