Judging by your reaction, honesty is not always the best policy. When I admitted my faults to you, you said I creeped you out, while the guy walking behind you gave me the eye of scorn saying, “Hey, what are you doing, man, giving it all away?” without saying anything, and when he passed to where you could see him, you said you thought he was cute, to my face. I didn’t benefit one iota from that exchange, so in my very next statement, I lied to you, or tried to, but you saw right through me. I think you see right through me on most days, as if I weren’t there at all. I still have a few aces up my sleeve—the one on which I wear my heart—sincerity, candor, frankness, but I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think any of them are working anymore. Is it me or a nagging memory that bothers you?