Reno sat at his computer, fingers wiggling above the keyboard, waiting for an idea to come. He wanted to write a story, something to make other people smile and say "Hey, that's pretty good," but so far all the ideas he had come up with were garbage. Twenty thousand sheets of crumpled up printing paper, seventeen empty cartons of cigarettes, four cases of beer and an empty Midgar Burger bag litter the area surrounding his chair, a weekends past supplies spent as he sits and ponders what he should do to make it seem real. He stares at the blank screen with his last cigarette dangerously dangling between his lips, ready to drop at any second. The inevitable happens, and he explodes with not rage, but words. He laughs wildly as he types, the words scrolling in onto the screen like there was no tomorrow. A paragraph emerges, then a page, then two. Soon, there is a twenty pages, a whole chapter. He sits back and grins, finished with what he set out to do.
He decides to wait to write more, and goes to the store to buy more of what he calls "life support," the dangerous mix of booze, nicotine and highly addictive chesseburgers. The deadly downside of mixing these products of course bothers him none at all. He's only a computer-animated image, a product of some art design team's second-long thought process. Of course, this also means nothing to him, in fact, he enjoys every second of it.
He buys his products and is on his way back to his seventh story apartment in heart of downtown Midgar, the scumiest place on their Earth, when he realizes something was wrong. He rushes up to his apartment, as fast as the elevator would go (which wasn't very fast at all, and in need of desperate repair) and throws his bags on the floor. He quick-views his story, and realizes that it, as it's predecessors, is a flaming piece of disk space, and in frustration deletes it permanently.
Opening the carton with an anger that should not be taken out on poor, defenseless cigarettes, Reno rips the box open and pulls one out, snapping the filter off and sticks it between his teeth, storming off to find his lighter. His expedition turned up nothing, and with extreme decision, he sends his computer sailing out over the balcony, to blow into fragments of glass and plastic onto the street below. He finds his lighter on the chair he had been sitting on moments before, and lights up, a bit calmer now and ready to write again. Hey, his story wasn't that bad, really.
It was then when he realized two things. One, he just decimated a 3,000 gil computer for no reason, and two, there was still beer in the fridge.