THE TRUTH ABOUT LIES

I

He found himself in a bar, weary from a day of out-pacing demons, finding a seat nestled among familiar faces. . .

“Dude!” one of his colleagues insincerely spoke in his direction. “What are you up to?”

He retreated behind a wry smile, whispering a risky honesty, sipping at his drink as if picking up a shield, “Just trying to drown out the deafening sound of the crushing boredom that is my life.”

The noisy bar became muted forever.

“Why don’t you go sit over there,” someone finally said long after eternity had died of old age, pointing toward an isolated corner of the room. But he continued to sit among them until they felt the need to be somewhere else, dripping from the bar one by one.

 

II

He found himself in a bar, weary from a day of out-pacing demons, finding a seat nestled among familiar faces. . .

“What can I get for you?” asked the well-built barmaid.

He retreated behind a wry smile, whispering a risky honesty, “One good reason to stay alive, but I’ll settle for a Manhattan with two cherries, ‘cuz it’s all about the cherries.” She slid away with a confounded gracefulness, tripping over perplexity while performing alchemy.

“Dude! What’s up?” one of his colleagues eventually asked.

“Nothing,” he spat directionlessly, yet without bile, “nothing at all!”

The seconds became so heavy that even Atlas groaned from the additional burden. “Hey, man, what’s up?” another acquaintance sputtered after noticing him.

“My heart rate!” he answered slapping the moment with terseness. “My pulse is racing and I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m excited about anything. I certainly don’t expend any sort of energy. Nevertheless my heart is racing as if I had just run a marathon. I’m afraid that my body has figured out that I have given up and is attempting to meet its allotted quota of heartbeats before it dies as quickly as possible.”

The noisy bar became muted forever.

“Why don’t you go sit over there,” someone finally said long after eternity had died of old age, pointing toward an isolated corner of the room. But he continued to perch among them until they felt the need to be somewhere else, hemorrhaging from the bar.

 

III

He found himself in a bar, weary from a day of out-pacing demons, finding a seat nestled among familiar faces. . .

“Hey, what are you up to today?” one of his colleagues asked out of a feeble sense of obligation.

He retreated behind a wry smile, whispering an unusual dishonesty, “Same old same old.”

The noisy bar continued unscathed. “What do you need?” asked the well-built barmaid.

“Seeing your smile is all I’ll ever need,” he said with the sincerity of a used car salesman, “nevertheless, I’ll have a Manhattan with two cherries if it’s not too much trouble, ‘cuz it’s all about the cherries.”

“No trouble at all!” she said almost blushing as she moved away, examining him like a schoolgirl admiring her first crush.

The bar became pregnant. “How’s it going today?” one of his colleagues asked, testing the water for dangerous undertows.

“Great!” he baldly lied with a swollen smile. “Everything is just great!”

“Hey,” someone finally said, “get over here and let me buy you a drink!” And he rode through the night like a hero in a tickertape parade.