When he couldn't sleep he went to the den. That's where the insomniacs hung out. Always a few 

chess

players. Few lively but soft spoken conversations. Even some crazy people drinking

coffee

. Maybe as some display of their eccentricity.

Each person hanging out in the den too long knew they really ought to go to sleep. They knew hanging out too long there was unhealthy. Sometimes Keith wondered what was more unhealthy. Staring at meaningless information on his phone and going to bed at a reasonable hour. Or staying up socializing.

Besides the late hour conversations, Keith didn't seem to get any social interaction. People didn't want to talk during the day time. They made small talk. More as a gesture than anything. After hours at the den though. You felt like people were listening.

Not that he had anything to say. He could go the rest of his life never being heard again. He had spoken enough. Had enough people agree and disagree with him. The next six or so decades he could pass by as a ghost and not mind. If there was a strange group of people who wouldn't mind him sitting at the table with them. Not expecting him to speak. People felt weird about silence. Everybody at the table had to say something. Otherwise they assumed something was wrong.

He decided it was better to not have friends. He didn't want to explain that he didn't want to say anything. At the den he was comfortable. People would be open to anyone saying anything. But if they noticed you didn't want to speak they'd let you stay quiet. Not awkward. And in that Keith felt he was listened to.