"Now Leaving Sunnydale. Please come back soon"
Not likely. It's time to go, Angel. It's what best for everyone. Who am I kidding? I'm leaving behind the first woman I have ever loved. I'm leaving behind the woman that I have hurt more than anyone. I'm leaving behind part of me with her.
You hurt the ones you love, someone once said. I'm not a philosopher, I'm not a poet, or a great genius. But someone said that, and someone was right. You hurt the ones you love the most. I don't love anyone in L.A., so the town must be safe.
This car drives nice. I picked it up from a dealership just outside of Sunnydale. 1967 Plymouth Belvedere, black, convertible top. The dealer said that I'd be a real lady's man in a car like this. Hmpf. Does it run? Yes? I'll take it. It guzzles gas like mad, but hey, it's pretty. And a lot of trunk space. Just in case I need to hide from the sun. I really don't tan well.
The radio in this car works, surprisingly, of course, there is no good music these days. Except Manilow, of course. Unfortunately, no Barry on tonight. I guess I will have to settle for NPR.
The gas gauge nears the bottom of it's semicircle, and the light comes on. There is a gas station at the next exit, let's hope I make it. Ah. Thank God.
I briefly make my way through the doors of the station, I lay down a twenty dollar bill, the attendant briefly looks up from her magazine. I check the clock, 12:45. I've only been gone for two hours. Why does it seem like longer? She offers me a lottery ticket, I wave it away.
My thoughts turn back to what I have left behind. She doesn't really need me. I just get in the way, right? I mean, before me, she killed vampires in L.A.. She can handle herself. She has her friends, her Watcher. Her life was simple before me. Vampires were the enemy. What made me so special?
Still, I hate the thought of her alone. She is so young, she needs someone who can take her to the beach, who can have picnics with her. She needs to have children, she needs...she needs.
I'm doing the right thing. No. I am. I'm giving her back her life in the daylight. She needs to live. I took her innocence, and she gave me back mine. I would be dead without her, but she would be dead with me. I'm doing the right thing.
Lights over the horizon, almost as bright as the dawn itself. A city that never sleeps. Just a few more miles of road and thought ahead. I can really go. I have really gone. I'm here.
Things will be better now. Everything will be better now. She can live. I can exist. That's all I really do, exist. We can do it alone. I pass a sign.
"Welcome to Los Angeles."
Not likely. It's time to go, Angel. It's what best for everyone. Who am I kidding? I'm leaving behind the first woman I have ever loved. I'm leaving behind the woman that I have hurt more than anyone. I'm leaving behind part of me with her.
You hurt the ones you love, someone once said. I'm not a philosopher, I'm not a poet, or a great genius. But someone said that, and someone was right. You hurt the ones you love the most. I don't love anyone in L.A., so the town must be safe.
This car drives nice. I picked it up from a dealership just outside of Sunnydale. 1967 Plymouth Belvedere, black, convertible top. The dealer said that I'd be a real lady's man in a car like this. Hmpf. Does it run? Yes? I'll take it. It guzzles gas like mad, but hey, it's pretty. And a lot of trunk space. Just in case I need to hide from the sun. I really don't tan well.
The radio in this car works, surprisingly, of course, there is no good music these days. Except Manilow, of course. Unfortunately, no Barry on tonight. I guess I will have to settle for NPR.
The gas gauge nears the bottom of it's semicircle, and the light comes on. There is a gas station at the next exit, let's hope I make it. Ah. Thank God.
I briefly make my way through the doors of the station, I lay down a twenty dollar bill, the attendant briefly looks up from her magazine. I check the clock, 12:45. I've only been gone for two hours. Why does it seem like longer? She offers me a lottery ticket, I wave it away.
My thoughts turn back to what I have left behind. She doesn't really need me. I just get in the way, right? I mean, before me, she killed vampires in L.A.. She can handle herself. She has her friends, her Watcher. Her life was simple before me. Vampires were the enemy. What made me so special?
Still, I hate the thought of her alone. She is so young, she needs someone who can take her to the beach, who can have picnics with her. She needs to have children, she needs...she needs.
I'm doing the right thing. No. I am. I'm giving her back her life in the daylight. She needs to live. I took her innocence, and she gave me back mine. I would be dead without her, but she would be dead with me. I'm doing the right thing.
Lights over the horizon, almost as bright as the dawn itself. A city that never sleeps. Just a few more miles of road and thought ahead. I can really go. I have really gone. I'm here.
Things will be better now. Everything will be better now. She can live. I can exist. That's all I really do, exist. We can do it alone. I pass a sign.
"Welcome to Los Angeles."