Manayunk resident Josh Booker has been striking out lately. He’s a self-described “nice guy,” so he has that going for him. A source familiar with Booker appears to confirm this.

“Yeah I mean, he’s not the worst, ” says Rosie Bishop, a casual acquaintance of Booker. “We hooked up at a bar once and he made sure I got home alright. Otherwise, he’s kind of bro.”

“I know I can be a little abrasive, but at the end of the da, I think I’m a stand-up dude. But apparently, that doesn’t get you a girlfriend like it used to.”

For close to three years now, Booker has been a functioning member of society only in the loosest sense. He plays Madden for hours to forget about the undeniable truth that his life is meaningless. He reads Camus because his dorky roommate in college recommended “The Myth of Sisyphus.” He thinks God is dead, but only because it makes his religious parents squirm.

“Sometimes I think the universe is out to torture me, but apparently, it’s just that it doesn’t care. The indifference is what I really find interesting. And, you know, soul crushing.”

As his psyche slowly began to crack from the existential dread associated with constantly dwelling on a lifetime spent in cold, unforgiving isolation, Booker met who he considers being “the one.”

“As long as she’s good at doing that thing I like - you know the one - she could definitely be the girl I spend the rest of my life with. I mean, I know it’s only been three weeks, but I feel like I’ve known her my entire life. And I’ve been around the block enough to make a decision like that on the fly.”

“This is actually quite common,” explains local psychiatrist, Dr. Aadhya Sadana, “but sooner or later, it comes back. You can never escape the realization that the universe just flat out doesn’t care about your dumb bullshit.”

“Absurd? No, love isn’t absurd,” claims Booker. “This is how it happens in movies, so I think I’ve got a good chance.”

When we contacted Booker’s love interest for a comment, she replied “James . . . James, uhh, what’s his last name?”