CHARMER

Oh, don't get like that. Every move I pull, you're always there
over my shoulder, shaking your head, pious and redundant. You
think it's easy slipping into what the moment requires?
Seersucker, trench coat, velvet pajamas. How many people have
I become, talking you in or out of situations? While all you do is
try to pretend I don't exist. So here's a funny question. How do I
sell myself to you?
Scenarios make the man. They might come cheap and worn-out,
but they wear whatever clothes we can spare them. You're
looking for the constants in life, while I'm a master of the
unsteady art; the shell-game of many fictions. But I can't keep it
up forever. You know the whole story about how there's only
twenty-eight basic stories to tell? Well, I'm getting tired of
shaving the angles.

I thought that by stealing every expectation, I could teach you
something, could make you accept me. Look around you.
The wheat fields bow down beneath the rain in the dark.
The wheat is broken down into loafs of enriched bread.
That bread will be shoved into plastic sleeves bearing
some cracker's likeness, who grants his down-home smile
to the emblem of a brick oven outmoded since last century.
That's your sense of natural wonder? Give me a break.
C'mon, man. It's wet outside. My engine is warm.
We've got some money to make.