Hubris, Even

The other day I was at the Four Faced Liar, and this kid was telling me that he was a poet but he didn’t write because he was waiting until he had something to say. I tried to explain to him that there is always something to say, and he was vaguely but stubbornly arguing with me, and I was very drunk, and I realized that I was about one breath away from actually saying the words “do you know who I am?” It was very embarrassing. Sinful, even.