"Well," said the god with a little 'g' as he rolled a cigarette - "when it comes to Gods, it's actually the people who giveth and taketh away." He licked the paper to seal it. "I mean, once believed in, we never really get forgotten even though we might not matter anymore - we're kind of there forever, like a sort of forced tenure....."
He lit the smoke, crossed his legs and leaned back. "But you know, people are not good at keeping their minds made up. Parts of me disappear all the time, and I never know when they're coming back. I mean, it usually only takes a second, though it might take a lot longer. But either way, by then, another part is gone."
He exhaled, looking sad but fine with that. "I feel like a puzzle that never quite gets completed - all the hardest pieces keep getting moved around until the person gives up."
Smoke fell away towards the ceiling.
"All I can do is wait for somebody to put me together. I want that. Completion is the one feeling I don't know. But it's not the reason I stick around."
He looked somewhere else and laughed.
"No, the only reason I stick around is that once they start putting you together, you cannot leave."
Things began to shuffle. He looked around. "Is that it? Is the interview over?"
The cigarette burned the tips of his fingers as the microphone was put away. Tired and resigned, he didn't bother to hang his head.
"I assume you'll turn some of the lights off as you go."