Beautiful day isn't it dear

I hardly talk to people anymore, just 'Big D' as I like to call him. He's been good to me, or I've been good to him, I'm not sure which. It doesn't even seem strange now, spending entire days, locked away in my apartment communing with my reflection.

I was dismissed from work yesterday, what a joke! I told my boss in no uncertain terms to "FUCK OFF!", besides I'm a rich man now, I don't need to work.

I went to the office to pick up my belongings, not that I really wanted them, I guess I just wanted to see the place one last time. I saw Margaret as I was leaving, she turned and gazed over at me. "Beautiful day isn't it dear, aside from that rain we had earlier." Christ, does that hag ever say anything different? Though it did remind me of a conversation I had with Big D a few days before. He mentioned in passing that Margaret was going to die on the 10th. And they said today couldn't get any better...

I can hardly string a coherent sentence together, three lines of charlie (the best I've had in a long time) and I'm babbling like the village idiot. "Enjoy this moment Daniel, because on Sunday we've got work to do". I look down at the bathroom mirror lying on the coffee table, more than an ounce of charlie on it's cold reflective surface. "WhywhatsupBigDwhatarewedoingonSunday?".

'The memoirs of Daniel Scott'