It's a shock to find out your life isn't your own. You mind your own business for years then suddenly you find out you have a writer. Not somebody you write for, somebody who writes you! Freaky concept. I think she can change my past, too. I have hazy memories that nobody else does. From before using blow!
I sympathize with my writer a little. She's so nuts about rock and especially percussion but doesn't have the contacts I do. My life moved in a direction she only dreamed about. I'd show her around if she visited.
But then again, she's the one who decided Neal wasn't enough of a bastard to me. I find myself reliving the time he and I met, and he's gotten to be more of a terrorist. She had him decide to slit my throat for real until he realized he knew my face. The first time we met, he wasn't really going to kill me, but she decided that wasn't edgy enough, or something. I get the feeling she's got a lot more planned for me, so I must stay alive, but why did things have to kick off on such a violent note?
You know, she makes me nervous. She says she only does stuff like that to people she likes. Who needs enemies with...
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