Every moment of the conversation is a contest. You shift through the files in your brain through every retold anecdote for a comparable tale recounting the even greater greatness in  you. Chatter among friends has suddenly turned into a tricky game of high wits; only the quickest and most daring will survive.

The lines of reality blur ever so slightly at first. If it’s for the sake of a good story, why not? No one will know. Eventually, reality becomes subjective. And then gravity is subjective.

You sit and you listen without really listening, only sensing the pause in the vibrations of the conversation that signal a gradual shift in the discussion. You see that shimmering opportunity and you take it, you run with it. You introduce a not-so-subtle topic centered the slightest bit left or right of you. Now, the only natural progression of the conversation is toward you. Your qualities. Your accomplishments. You feign modesty. It’s a good thing acting isn’t your aspiration.

Maybe people don’t see what’s happening.

I acknowledge you. Take this as a stern, knowing look in the eye.


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