Christmas Eve… the last month has dragged by. I have joined Roger in becoming a recluse, neither of us have left the loft for weeks, minus a few short trips to the store on the corner. We completely stopped answering the phone, screening all our calls, and never answering them.

I haven't seen Maureen since Thanksgiving, but I have talked to her once. She called, begging me to pick up the phone, and in a moment of weakness, that I soon regretted, I did. She apologized, begged for my forgiveness, and then begged me to help her stage a protest against Benny and Cyberarts idea. Screwing over Benny and spending time with Maureen… I was all for it.

I am over her though. It didn't take as long as I thought, but I am. After I left her place, I came back here and filled in Roger with what happened. I think that was the first genuine sound of laughter I have heard from him in a year. I would have been mad, but it was so great to see him smile, that I just laughed with him. It was an absurd situation, and I wasn't going to let it get to me. I took all my mementos of Maureen, the pictures, letters, things she left behind and put them in a drawer. About a week later, we were looking for something to burn and I tossed it all in. It was a moment of clarity.

I had been waiting for her to contact me about the performance, but she hadn't until three days ago. She called, we screened, and she left a message that she didn't need my help anymore, but she insisted she wanted both Roger and I there, for the protest and dinner at the Life Café afterwards. I didn't let Roger see my disappointment, but I think he knew.

Today, I'm a wreck. Knowing that I am going to see Maureen tonight, and undoubtedly meet the infamous Joanne is making me insane. I am determined to get Roger to come with me tonight, I don't think I can handle this by myself.

Our quote-on-quote wood burning stove is running out of fuel, so I begin searching around the loft for something to burn. In one corner of the loft, Roger's guitar sits and a pile of my screenplays lays next to it. Both have been abandoned for months. I have been working on my so-called masterpiece for years now, but nothing has worked. I go over to the corner and sit and start looking through the papers. Reading over my past work, I realize that it is shit. I am deeply involved in one of my opuses when Roger comes over and asks me what I am doing.

"Here, hold this." I hand him his guitar and reach for some papers behind it.

"What do I want this for?"

"I don't care, but if you don't do something with it, it would make great fire wood." He smacks me lightly on the head and takes the guitar and swears under his breath how dusty it is, then he moves to the table and starts blowing off the dust. He then plays a chord, which just sounds awful. "Tune that thing, please!" I roll my eyes and go back to suffering through my screenplay. Roger begins tuning his guitar and we both lose ourselves for a little while.

"I didn't realize how much I missed this." His voice breaks my concentration, and I just look up at him. "This guitar, was everything to me before, I don't know why I haven't played it."

"Well, now is as good as time as any." I take the script I'm reading and put it in the pile to burn. The pile to save in non-existent.

"I just haven't had any ideas for so long. But I need to do something, I need to leave something behind. Like you with your film." I just look up at him.

"My film? My film is shit. These screenplays are shit. Everything I have ever done, is shit…" I could go on with my self-loathing all night, but he interrupts me.

"You have the talent, you are going to do something great, you have all the time in the world. Me, I'm just going to die in a few years with nothing to show for it."

"Roger…" I start to scold, but the look of determination on his face stops me. "Well, do something about it then. Stop sitting around doing nothing. Work on a song, an album, start a new band, do something…" He nods and goes back to concentrating on his guitar. I look down at my screenplays, worlds that I have created that will never exist and never seem right. That is when it dawns on me, my own world is more amazing than anything I could think of. My friends, our problems, we have our own drama. I go over to my camera and pick it up.

I point the camera at Roger, "What are you doing Mark?" I wave my head to shush him and he continues tuning the guitar.