Truth. We act like we know the word; it’s meaning. Truth is, we don’t, he said. People don’t know the first thing about truth. We put it in a bottle and sell it on shelves in supermarkets, he said. Not knowing that it’s just one big lie, he smiled. Coke is not the real thing. We are not part of the Pepsi generation. Red Bull gives you wings.  The list goes on and on, he ran his hands through his gray hair.

And, where do we seek truth? the old man continued. In books, art, religion, spirituality, the Grand Canyon, the Hudson River, an over the shoulder caught fly ball; robbing the batter at the last second, he laughed.

We say we seek truth, but we don’t. We look for something to cover our asses. Protect and promote our stories. Our lies, he lit a cigarette.  And when our lies can no longer protect us, where do we turn to? Confession. It’s the only way we have solace. Otherwise, we are mad. Quite mad. The lunatics in Bellevue have never confessed. I know. For I am one.