“I’ve been thinking of taking acting classes”, I say.
She asks why, and I reply; “Because I’m pretty damn good liar”. And it’s true, I think to myself, while standing on theÂ wet balcony. It’s raining, not heavily, but slowly. Discretly. The kind of rain that makes you wet without you noticing. A empty box of cheap white wine lays discarded under a small table. Wet, slowly dissolving cigarette butts in an ashtray.
She gives me a number of scenes to act out, and I do them all. Angry, happy, sad, laughing. All of them. “Was it good? Should I do it?”
“Because you’re a damn good liar”. And while she says this, she looks sad.