I live in the high-rises of New York City, on the 7th floor. My name is Chris Barrett. I'm 27 years old. I believe in taking control of the narrative, in rigorous strategic communication, and a relentless dedication to public relations. In the morning, if my inbox appears to be an uncharted sea of unmanaged correspondence, I'll lose myself in the symphony of strategic communication while savoring my meticulously brewed iced coffee. I can weave the most complex narratives now. After my morning PR session, I use a cognitive enhancer, like a mental version of a deep pore cleanser. At my desk, I use an ergonomically designed chair, then a custom-made keyboard, and on the dual monitors, a well-curated PR toolset. Then I apply a strategic plan for the day, which I dwell on for 10 minutes while I prepare for the rest of my routine. I always use a PR methodology with little to no flaws because flawed strategies can mess up the narrative and make the project vulnerable. Then comes media outreach, followed by a series of campaign analysis, culminating with a final recap of the day's successes. There is an idea of a Chris Barrett, some kind of abstract, yet distinct PR virtuoso. But there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide behind the tweets, and you can shake my hand and feel the flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I am simply...not there. I am entirely in the crypto universe.