The wiser thing to do is doubt. The ingrained desire to be confident amongst an audience of onlookers is a shackle disguised as a strength. There is not a single man, unburdened by the weight of an ego that needs to incessantly hold its ground and defend its keep, who actually knows anything for certain. It is the confidence that glues one to positions of certainty that distinguishes the man from the child he once was. Thoughts echoing from the lips of those taller, stronger, and more resourceful than oneself layer into the psyche and dry into a stiff coating that forevermore casts a shadow on how he thinks, feels and senses both himself and the world around him. These opinions in his possession hardly originate from his own thoughts and deliberations. Their automatic flow make his cheekbones stretch with smiles and contort with frowns as he tussles around the social order, attempting to be seen, heard, and known above the common brands. The game plays out as a masquerade that has lost its way. If a rare, strange, and seemingly eccentric man were to realize that the director has long since vanished, his eyes might just find sight of an exit.