It was a typical sticky summer day. Gloria sat down in the waiting room just inside the entrance and leafed through a magazine, sweating. She sighed and stared at the wall, waiting. Finally a well-groomed man in his mid-thirties entered the waiting room and stopped, smiling. "You must be Gloria. I'm Kevin. It's nice to meet you." Gloria followed Kevin into his office, noticing his polished, dressy shoes. She wondered what made certain men wear nice shoes. Gloria wondered why anyone did anything.

"That's just it," she whined. "I don't understand! How do people become passionate about things? I never stick to anything! I just bounce around. For a while, it was accepted, like I was still young enough but now I'm ready to bounce off bouncing, you know? It's just that I don't know what to do. And the only things I'm passionate about I've never even tried, even though I know I could succeed."

"Like what?"

"Like singing. I can sing, really, but I'm afraid. I don't sing in front of others. And painting. Just like that guy featured at Gibbes right now. I just don't. And I've never even tried acting but this feeling inside me tells me that I can. I just know it. It's like I'm meant to be famous but I just don't have the balls, which is kind of the whole point. Do you think the only difference between famous people and regular people is guts? Oh, I'm funny too, with some people, but not around anyone that intimidates me. I'm just like those people on Saturday Night Live."

She hunched forward, resting her elbows on her knees, crossing her arms over. She studied a series of books about mood disorders on the shelf by the door. After a minute, she looked up at Kevin, shrugged and smiled sheepishly, raising her eyebrows, then looked down at her feet.

"What are you thinking about?"

Gloria hesitated. "I don't like people who are like me." She looked up briefly. "I don't like people who try to be special, who think they are the only ones that like independent films and who have good taste in restaurants and humor and --am I making any sense? I'm just like that, sort of. If I met me, I'd probably think I was a loser."

"Are you a loser?"

"No, that's my point. I'm right about me."

"You're special and everybody else just thinks they are."

"I've had this conversation enough times to be able to just say yes to that. So, yes. I'm an idiot."

Time was up. Gloria stood up and took a deep breath. She cautiously exited, closing the door behind her.