Dennis is kinda a funny drunk. 'course, we couldn't talk much, but I kept Notepad open on the computer and he typed me messages. Heh. He'd grab stuff and start floating it in funny little loopy patterns. 'course, a lot of that's just the affectedness of one who hasn't been drunk that often, but it's still fun to see some of that youth and vigor.

Me? I'm 25 years old. 25. And what the fuck have I done with my life so far? Nothin'. Worked for over nine months (if you include my "training period" during the summer) at a law firm, used my powers for shit. I coulda done something. Coulda... coulda done...

Fuck.

Start again. My name is Parker Abrams. I have, in my lifetime, gotten a Bachelor's degree in History. Worked Public Relations and god fucking damn well. And I have slept with... a Slayer, a Halliwell, the one-time Queen of the Underworld, a vampire with a unicorn fetish, and a sweet innocent girl who runs a teen shelter downtown. I have also banged myself. Which may be part of the reason we are where we are.

Where was I?

I have done... nothing with my life. When I'm gone, and in a world brimming with the kind of creepy crawlies that it brims with, that could be any time now, nobody will mark me. No woman will say, "There goes the love of my life." I'll just be another schmuck with severe neck trauma and a Catholic family who bicker at the funeral over who coulda prevented my life of sin.

There's nothing special about me. I'm not a hero. I don't want to save the innocent. I don't have super-strength, or speed, or flaming balls of death. I don't know any magic. I'm just a guy. Walking in this world. Normal, unnoticed.

They talk about the size of the universe, and how insignificant we all are comparatively. Fuck the universe. Look at the size of Los Angeles County. Look at the people who are putting together lives, and helping others, or at least helping themselves. Look at all of it, and then look at me. I'm a speck on a speck, in an apartment I can't afford.

Yeah, I've done things in my life. But I've always relied on the weakness of others to get me through. A smile, a wink, and suddenly they're special. And I believe they're special, too, until they aren't anymore. And then they're a bother. See, I don't make mistakes. Everybody else does. I can't make mistakes because I never do anything... I just paint a chalk line and wave a delicious basket of chocolates around and mention that maybe if you're lucky you'll get the treats if you follow the line, but the line... it goes over a cliff.

I've gone on too long. I was trying to write about Dennis. *sigh*

Current Mood: drunk