In a thousand Starbucks in a thousand towns, MacBook Airs open in front of them, those damn Moleskine notebooks to one side, a coffee made mostly of adjectives on the other and a screenplay to which not one line has been added since last October on the screen, inept men will contemplate the unthinkable horror of having to pretend they’re a scriptwriter by cracking open a corporate-drone Dell and wonder how they’re going to pick up girls then (ignoring the fact that their sleek Air isn’t helping them pick up girls now.)