A back room somewhere. Cigarettes burning. Two men sitting by a table talking. Nothing special. In fear of Mr nobody. The biggest fear anyone regular has is that no one knows them anymore. Nix. You don’t exist! No one to call when you get into trouble. Totally self-sufficient. Now that might work for a psychopath. But what does that say for a regular human being? How many guys have gone ‘gaga’ for some dame only to find at the end of many months of years that she laid him off as a chump for whatever she could get. Some say that little package is in the genes. But a regular guy hung out to dry will always make the same mistake. He’ll get lonesome and try to make a stranger a friend. A big buddy for his sorrow. And that is his downfall. I mean given that a guy whose some sort of ‘schlub’ gets a little lonely and gets some broad for hire to go down on him every once in a while but then he thinks that she owes him something? Like a little discretion. But that is not how the game is played. He’s just become another mark.
A standup guy could hold his own water. He didn’t give a shit if anyone thought he was a saint or not. That was his mother’s job. That’s if he ever had one. The high life was a private affair that one said little about. As he did about when he was alone by himself saying nothing. Just alone with his thoughts. No Internet. No smart meters. No monitoring. No nothing. It’s a fact that now you can’t get away with the same shit now that you once could back then. Now you can’t even recite your bank account aloud to yourself because your phone or your TV or something might be listening in live on behalf of some government agency. See, then you are soon to become another ‘nobody’ who is padding your cell and don’t even know it yet. You’d want to be ‘Mr. Nobody’! That’s if you had any sense in your head! Just think. Nobody knows you nor cares to. Totally ignorant. Somebody fucks with you, fine. When nobody is a round you whack him. Who did it? Hey! It must have been nobody. Cops pick you up you keep your trap shut. Don’t even say hello, it’s a nice day.Keep your mouth shut. Nothing. You’re Mr. Nobody.
That’s the difference between a professional and any garden variety local yokel. One who realizes the way the world really is. The way it works. And so they quickly adapt. The cops can’t ever get a confession. Everyone else courts this fantasy of some higher sense of morality. It’s a game for squares! There is no God that you won’t let you buy your way into heaven if you have a little ‘vig’. It’s all in your head. St Peter might be standing at the gates? Sure. Or maybe not. But maybe there’s no gates at all? If there wasn’t, then all these other suckers have been chasing the same fox and it’s been their problem. It wasn’t ours. Being Mr. Nobody. Yet what was life really all about? Be smart. Take what you can while anyone wasn’t watching. But is they are then let them know that you’re on top. Who cares what that square thinks? To them you are invisible. Like you are invisible, or else! Mr. Nobody.
That is what’s what. But a regular guy with a regular job gettin screwed all the live long day? What a ‘maluke’! Those guys will never know how lucky they could have been! A real bunch of Mr. Nobody’s!