The Art of Confidence

I smile sickly sweet with these sticky teeth as I lick my lips and wait to pounce. There is money in the air, and I am waiting there, calmly, while everyone tries to grab it. They bounce around, hands in the air, flailing and jumping. Me? I am sitting on the other side, biding my time before I take it from them. I am very confident in my hustle, selling wolf tickets and bootleg g passes to people who think they can walk the walk and talk the talk. My smile burns bright in this dangerous night, and they are buying the broken dreams that I am selling. They give me their money for nothing, just they can spend a night trying to pretend to be something they’ll never be, but I tell them it will be okay. You can be one of us tonight. You can run with the wolves. You can strip down naked and bark at the moon. But – if you reach a point when you want to put your clothes back on and return to your nice, white life, I want you to know with all your heart that I have crawled off into the darkness with all your belongings and left you there, like a dog, alone and cold. I would say, “Sorry,” but I’m not sorry. I know you would have done it to me first if you thought you had the chance. You don’t.

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