Fat Charlie.

So here's the script I've been threatening, just me and Charlie having a chat. Either a work of bad fiction, the ramblings of a mad man, or proof of my condition. Make of it what you will.

To set the scene, I'm sitting in the kitchenette of my apartment, enjoying a bowl of cereal. Charlie drifts in - as he often does - passing through the wall that looks onto the street outside.

>Everett: Morning Charlie, sleep well?

>Charlie: You ask me that every morning. I'm gettin' worried about you.

>E: Why?

>C: 'Cause you know full well I don't sleep. If I didn't know better I'd say you were startin' to think I'm real.

>E: Of course I don't. I know this is all in my head.

>C: Good. What-cha eatin' loser?

(At this point, he walked over to the table and inspected my cereal. Upon sniffing it, he wrinkled his nose and floated away to my threadbare couch, where he sat, perched precariously on the back.)

>C: Digustin'. When you gonna get yerslef a job, so we can have something good to eat.

>E: We? You don't eat Charlie.

>C: True, technically. But seein' as how I'm a figment of your over-active imagination, what keeps you alive keeps me goin'. Symbiosis, see?

>E: "Symbiosis"? I'm not sure I like that word. Reminds me of that creepy alien gunk in those old Spider-man comics I read as a kid.

>C: You sure loved 'em, eh?


(We laugh a bit at this, both fondly remembering my childhood.)


>C: C'mon buddy, when are you gonna get yerself sorted out?

>E: Don't know what you mean Charlie.

>C: Oh yes you do. Stop moping around the house talkin' ta your imaginary friends. Stop writin' rubbish on that new blog thing. Get outta the house and find yerself a nice gal.

>E: No.

>C: Self-pity ain't gonna get you no where. S'been four years 'Rett. Four. Years.

>E: It'll be the anniversary soon.

>C: Aw jeez, c'mon bud. What happened ta you, you used to be so happy, so fulla joy - you loved it! You loved bein' a priest.

>E: You know what happened, the whole of Paverstown knows. Didn't stop Dad giving me an ear full.

>C: Ya shouldn't have stolen that dough. You shouldda stayed. You hate it here.

>E: Shut up Charlie.

>C: Fine. OK. I'm shuttin' up now.

(Charlie spreads his wings, as he often does went he's in a mood. He started plucking loose feathers.)

(I got, and walked around the couch, slumped down, and flicked on the T.V.)

>C: Static huh?

>E: No shit Sherlock.

>C: Aw jeez, not that guy, I remember the last time. When you lost Marley's keys, an' ya hadda find 'em...

(Charlie chuckles unconvincingly.)
(The T.V's image was leaping about, and pure fuzzy static was coming out of the speakers. I gave it a few slaps, but nothing useful happened.)

>E: Third time this week. This is ridiculous. I'm going out.

>C: Mmmk. Have fun sweetie.

(I flipped Charlie the finger, and slammed the door on my way out.)

There, little snipped of me and Charlie's love/hate relationship. Excuse me while I go stick my head in the freezer, it's going to be a tough few days.