The Victims of Fibs

The truth began in Marie's approach but ended in her words. She was an actress offstage and the ideal candidate to add to this equation I had created, this perfect little world that I crafted out of white lies and black magic mathematics.

I was doing well in my business; making a killing as a matter of fact. So well that I began to slice a chunk of the pie here and there, padding my expense account while I loaded up my savings. I bought a boat, tools, a bunch of coozies and a tanning bed. I looked like a million bucks, smelled great, slept late. Unlike other schmucks, I wasn't going to slip on no banana peels.

She'd come over and we'd just tell each other lies. My colleagues would come into my office, and we'd tell each other lies. My ex-wife would call me, and she would tell me the truth. And I didn't ever wanna listen because listening just takes too much time. Like my daddy always said, just believe what you want and it'll eventually come true.
Photo by Thomas Patrick Wheatley/"Lonely Man in Paris"/Paris, France/July 2004