To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand.

The honest man isn’t too hard to pick out. He’s usually on his own these days and as he moves through a public space, those that know him tend to get out of his way. If a stranger should, unawares, ask him a quick, “How’s it going?” you can watch his slow edge in the other direction sometime after the third or fourth sentence of the honest man’s answer. This is usually made more awkward as the honest man notes out loud that the stranger is inching away and perhaps is not really interested in how it’s going for the honest man, upon which he might be questioned on his motivations for nodding in a friendly fashion and asking a question he did not care to hear the answer to.
The honest man met the honest woman once and they managed to struggle through a one night stand but the honest man had to ask how it was for her and she had to tell him and while they admired one another’s honesty they agreed that that was about all either of them had to offer the other and so they parted ways acknowledging that none would ever have interest or occasion in calling the other ever again.

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