Day 99: 08 Nov 2010
Still nothing from the brothers Sykes. Truth be told, though, I'm too hammered to give a shit right now. Whoever came up with the idea of a 25-ounce daiquiri is an evil damned genius.
You know what? I didn't want to get involved. Not in any of this bullshit. I was happy last year, working in the shop and gambling a bit on the weekends. It was effing awesome. Then my dad's old Army buddy Vince shows up and lays out the whole scheme -- the slugs, the ancient gods, the West Coast Syndicate. Suddenly, I'm part of this little group that's trying to stop them from spreading.
And what has it brought me? Some nifty abilities. I can't bitch about those -- the ability to fly for short distances, increased strength, speed, and hearing. Those are pretty badass. And there's the money, too, which I'm keeping if Jared doesn't show up.
But then there's the bad side, outweighing the good. Sleepless nights. Voices in my head, not like Jared or Travis, not as controlling, but still creepy as fuck. Temperature sensitivity. This Louisiana humidity is killing me. And the heat isn't great, either.
Fuck it. Alcohol will make everything better, right?