What if I told you from the beginning that you’re reading nothing more than a masquerade? That these very words you’ve chosen to read are intended to be sibylline? That my argument is intended to be rebarbative, almost pugnacious in the way these words divagate along the mountains and valleys of vocabulary, reaching a precipice that can only be forsaken by backtracking or jumping. That I open my hand to reveal specious sophistry.
What if I told you I’m a twenty-first century gentleman?
What would you think of me?