BCNU3bThe other Villagers say I’m Number VI, but I’m not — not in my head.  I’m not that far gone.  At least, I don’t think I am.  But if I’m not Number VI, then who am I?  Ah, that’d be telling.

I will admit this much: I’m the guy who sits at the bar drinking alone.  I’m the guy who stands in the corner at a party and watches everyone else.  I’m the guy who long ago realized that no one truly cares about anything that’s not impacting them right this very second; that no one truly feels anything more majestic than the pleasure of a full stomach or the pinch of new shoes; that no one listens to anything but their own thoughts.

I’m alone because I prefer my own company.  I’m not depressed, I’m bored.  I’m not interested in listening to you make small talk that’s designed to do nothing more than prop up your belief that your infinitesimal genitalia is the biggest in the room, that your shriveled ego is somehow important to someone other than yourself.  I am not your type.  I’m nobody you want to meet, nobody you want to know.

I learned the difference between facts and faith, between logic and argument, between love and lust at an early age.  I’ve heard it all more than once and I’ve figured out what I believe, so I don’t need you to convince me that I’m wrong.  Especially if I am.

Given all that, unless you have something important to say, like, “The house is on fire!”, shut the fuck up and get the hell outta here.  I’m on to all your tricks. I have more important things to do.  I’m thinking.  You should try it sometime.

Be seeing you.



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