Facebook Marketplace is like the Purgatory of the sales world.

In the past, I'd managed to sell a sofa and buy a wardrobe, but now it just seems a mess of a place. It comes to something when eBay is preferable to something else. Well, when anything is. I'm not a snob... well, maybe a little... but there's always the hassle of 'Will you deliver?' 'Yeah, but it'll cost you another tenner.' 'But I'm two streets away!' 'Sorry, sold now!'

But, even Purgatory's purifying fire (purifiring) is preferable to Hell, I suppose.

Anyway, when you need something quickly, you'll do whatever is necessary to get it. Within reason, I should add, but I won't.

Facebook's humble beginnings as a university social network are nothing compared to its current worldwide behemoth, gobbling smaller companies like kids with a bag of Haribo to lead the technological race. Now, it's home to...

Well, I digress. Whatever or whomever finds themselves on the site, I'm one amongst the billions, so I can't really comment, not that that often stops me. Anyway, I started my search through its Mighty Morphing Marketplace. It's be out there somewhere, it had to be.

Time wasn't my friend, though it never had been. The years, so many of them, had passed roughshod over me in so many ways. I was tired and worn down mentally and physically, with only my emotional self – or emotionless, if I was going to be honest – remaining intact. I'd long given up on sentiment or excitement. They were too short lived. I longed for something more... perpetual, I suppose. Something that would remain with me. Be a part of me for more than the five minute thrill of joy or its much more invasive sorrow.

They say you can get anything on the internet, and people on Facebook sell everything, sooooo...

It was one of those things where you're not sure exactly what you're looking for, but you'd know it when you saw it. It was going to be a lengthy quest, I had no doubt, but it would be fruitful. It had to be.

Privacy is a pain in the arse. You check someone's profile, only to find there's a profile picture of a dog, or a sunset, or an empty pint glass, and they've locked it so you can't see anything about them. Not their friends, not their happy smiling face. Why go on the world's biggest platform for airing your dirty laundry, then hide it all?

Rude.

So, my search went on longer than expected and warranted. There was a lot of sighing on my part, and my frustration grew.

Then, I found it. I had it. Finally!

'Is this still for sale?'

Waiting...

Waiting...

'Yes.'

'Cool. When can I collect?'

'I'm going out in an hour, If you can come before then, great. If not, it'll be tomoz.'

Ugh. Tomoz. Seriously?

I was already on my way before the three dancing dots changed from 'is writing' to the message. Twenty minutes later, no two streets, I was knocking on the door.

The man was topless, overweight and smelled of body odour and beer. Pleasant. Still, he invited me in without asking if I was the person he was waiting for. That worked for me, and I could work on him. I enjoyed the working part. It was like fitting into a new pair of jeans that were a little tight, but you knew they'd stretch once you'd worn them for an hour or so.

Not that he'd be too tight.

"There it is," he said, pointing at a lamp on his kitchen table.

I nodded. I wasn't there for that. I smiled. He was Iain, his name spelled with that extra I shoved in just to confuse people. His online profile showed him to lead a lonely existence. Little in the way of interests and nothing in the way of partners or children. Thought about

I said I'd know it when I saw it.

My smile grew wider as his eyes did the same. Of course, they would. Iain with the extra I hadn't seen a demon shed its skin before. I was upon him – in him – before his mouth could open to scream.

Facebook Marketplace is shite, but where else could I find a new me?