Without social networks, you're not the coolest thing on the

Host: The café’s neon sign flickered weakly against the winter night, its red glow spilling across the wet sidewalk like a wounded pulse. The sound of rain tapping against the glass mingled with the low hum of conversation and the sharp hiss of espresso steam. Inside, the world was a mosaic of screens — people scrolling, posting, reacting — each face illuminated by a cold blue light that had replaced the warmth of human fire.

At the back corner table, Jack sat with his phone turned over, untouched, as if defying gravity itself. His grey eyes reflected the lights of other people’s lives, their smiles, their filters, their curated perfection. Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward, the faint glow of her tablet reflected in her deep brown eyes, eyes that seemed to carry both curiosity and ache.

They had come here to escape the noise — and found themselves talking about the noise itself.

Jeeny: (reading aloud) “Joe Green once said, ‘Without social networks, you're not the coolest thing on the Christmas list, and you're not getting any bite.’”

Jack: (snorts) “So, we’ve officially outsourced validation to algorithms. Merry Christmas.”

Jeeny: “It’s not just validation, Jack. It’s connection. It’s the new campfire — people gathering around a digital flame.”

Jack: “Campfire? That flame burns attention, not warmth. People don’t gather; they compete for reflection.”

Host: The rain intensified, streaking the window with liquid veins of light. Somewhere behind them, a barista laughed too loudly at a joke she didn’t find funny — the kind of laugh that belongs to someone who’s been trained to appear happy for tips.

Jeeny: “You’re exaggerating. Look at it differently — social media gave people a voice who never had one. Movements were born online: #MeToo, climate activism, revolutions in the Middle East. Isn’t that worth the cost?”

Jack: “Sure, if you ignore the bill that came with it. Truth traded for trends. Empathy diluted by emojis. Connection without commitment.”

Jeeny: “So what, we go back to isolation? Letters? Town squares? You can’t undo evolution.”

Jack: “I’m not asking to undo it. I’m asking us to recognize that the machine feeds on us — not the other way around. You think it’s connection, but it’s consumption. Each ‘like’ another bite taken out of the self.”

Host: The lights dimmed slightly as the power flickered, the world outside briefly going darker before the neon pulse returned. The storm was swelling. Inside, tension matched its rhythm.

Jeeny: “You sound like one of those cynics who think humanity can’t adapt. But maybe social networks are just mirrors — showing us who we really are.”

Jack: “Then we’re uglier than I thought. Scroll long enough and you’ll find envy disguised as inspiration, loneliness performing as joy, outrage as virtue. We’re not connecting — we’re marketing our loneliness.”

Jeeny: (defensively) “You’re forgetting the good — families separated by oceans can see each other, friends reconnect after decades, small creators find audiences. It’s not all vanity.”

Jack: “No, but it’s built on vanity. You think Facebook connected people? It commodified them. Joe Green helped build that empire — and he left it when he realized it was more market than miracle.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he saw what could go wrong — and still believed we could make it right. Every tool can be used or abused. The telephone brought gossip; the internet brings gossip faster.”

Jack: “Difference is — now gossip is governance. Look at politics. Public discourse reduced to hashtags. Policies decided by popularity.”

Host: The rain softened for a moment, turning into a rhythmic drizzle — the sound of the world catching its breath. Jeeny looked down at her tablet, scrolling absently, her reflection broken by the movement of her thumb.

Jeeny: “You’re angry because the world changed faster than your ideals could keep up. But this is the first generation in history where one voice can reach millions. Isn’t that power worth something?”

Jack: (leaning forward) “Power without wisdom is chaos. And we’re drowning in chaos disguised as choice. Everyone has a platform — but no one listens.”

Jeeny: “Maybe you just stopped listening.”

Host: The words hit like a chord strummed too hard. Jack froze, eyes flicking up to meet hers. There was no malice — only recognition.

Jack: (after a pause) “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I miss when silence still had meaning.”

Jeeny: “And maybe I miss when connection didn’t need to be justified.”

Host: The rain stopped, leaving only the distant murmur of cars and the quiet hiss of brewing coffee. The café seemed suspended in its own digital heartbeat — time slowed, emotions sharpened.

Jeeny: “Joe Green’s quote wasn’t cynical. It was a warning — that social relevance now comes with strings attached. You’re not the ‘coolest thing’ unless you’re plugged in, and if you’re not plugged in, you’re invisible.”

Jack: “Then invisibility is my rebellion. I don’t want to exist through Wi-Fi.”

Jeeny: “You already do. Every job, every interaction, every story depends on it. Even this conversation — you’ll probably quote it in a tweet later.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Only if I can hashtag it ‘#pointless.’”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Then you’ve already lost.”

Host: The faintest hint of laughter passed between them — small, human, fragile. The tension eased for a moment, replaced by something gentler, something almost nostalgic.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, being cool meant you had mystery. Now it means you have reach.”

Jeeny: “Mystery doesn’t trend.”

Jack: “Neither does truth.”

Host: A gust of wind rattled the café door. The neon sign outside flickered one last time before dying completely, plunging the room into a soft, dim twilight. Phones lit up in reflex — blue fireflies glowing in the dark.

Jeeny: “Look at them. Everyone reaching for the same light.”

Jack: “Addiction disguised as belonging.”

Jeeny: “Or belonging disguised as addiction.”

Host: She looked at him then, eyes earnest, steady.

Jeeny: “Maybe connection isn’t the enemy, Jack. Maybe we just forgot how to use it with grace. Social media isn’t the disease — it’s the mirror. It shows us both the beauty and the rot.”

Jack: “And you think we can fix the reflection?”

Jeeny: “Not by turning off the lights. But by changing what we bring to them.”

Host: Outside, the rain began again, softer now, a cleansing rhythm. The café lights flickered back to life — warm, human, imperfect. The neon sign returned to its red pulse, like a heart deciding to keep beating after a long pause.

Jack: (quietly) “So what do we do?”

Jeeny: “Use the network. Don’t let it use us.”

Jack: “And if we fail?”

Jeeny: “Then we try again. Connection’s worth the risk.”

Host: The last of the storm passed. The windows cleared. Outside, a few people stopped scrolling, looked up, and smiled at the sky — maybe at nothing, maybe at everything.

And in that fragile stillness, Joe Green’s words lingered, heavy and prophetic —

That relevance has become currency,
that connection has become performance,
and that in the digital chase for belonging,
the truest act of rebellion
might simply be to look up.

Host: Jack picked up his phone — not to scroll, but to switch it off. Jeeny smiled, watching the gesture.

Jack: “Maybe being uncool isn’t the worst thing.”

Jeeny: “No. Maybe it’s finally real.”

Host: And as the café returned to its rhythm — screens glowing, people talking, storms fading — the faint reflection of the neon light lingered on the window, spelling a quiet truth across the glass:

That in a world desperate to connect,
sometimes the bravest thing you can do
is simply be present.