"When's your birthday?" she asks, bashfully gazing at the ground stained with the scent of liquified waste, it's sickly sweet smell of decay.

The masked vigilante perched on the fire escape can't help but peer at the young woman below. "I forget."

"Uhm, well," she seems to have lost her words. "Here's for your birthday, whenever that is."

Rorschach swoops down and at his feet is a leather bound notebook. A journal. He tips his fedora at her retreating back.

"Be seeing you."

This idea came to mind just out of the blue because I was just wondering what I wanted for Christmas, which isn't at all related to birthdays besides the gifts and the love. Well, perhaps not the love or anything, but the gifts.

Anyhoo, I do not own Watchmen. Review, please!