“That’s the inner me,” he admitted. “Inside I sometimes feel pathetic, awkward, and unloved.” “Even after all the confidence you acquired as a pickup artist, a husband, and a father?” “Well,” he said, opening the door to his car, “all you can do is put on an appearance of confidence sometimes. And after a while, others will start to believe it.” He grabbed the door handle to pull it closed. “And then you die.” Slam.”
