"H-hello frie- f-ffffriend..." Norman muttered quietly to himself, hopefully not loud enough for someone else to hear him.

"Daaaammit, i-it's happeni- it's haaaappening... I'm t-talking to som- sssssssomeone who d-doesn't even ex... exisssst." He was sitting on a bench on the Huntington Beach Pier, overlooking the ocean with a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. It was hard ordering that sandwich, considering his stutter, social anxiety, flat-out lack of social skills, etc., etc... Not to mention that the cashier was a woman, that made it even worse. He took another bite out of the sandwich, still looking out at the ocean and the surfers.

"I-I guess th-this w-was bou- bbbbbound to haaaappen som-someday." He would finish off his sandwich before continuing. "I'm t-too lonely not toooooo d-do t-this..." He would start to walk home, talking to himself, or an imaginary person, who it was he wasn't sure, about his day and his current situation. Walking up the steps to the apartment building in which he lived, he would drop some change into a homeless man's cup, and then continued up to his apartment.

It was a rundown and shitty place to live, but it was all that Norman could afford on his budget. He would feed his dog, an Australian Cattle Dog named Gordon, and then walk to his bed. He falls back onto it, then reaches under his pillow for his bag of weed. "T-this shooooould hhhelp for a bi- bit..." Pulling it out, he rolls a joint, smokes it, and... Poof! Like magic, he felt a little more confident; at least confident enough that he wouldn't stutter anymore. Once he was finished, he would go out and head to work. It was a few miles away, in Glendale, so of course he called a cab and was driven there.

Then, he would walk to his cubicle, sit down, and go about with his accounting business.