Reader, you know me. I mean that literally. Just this morning, you saw me, on the street, on the subway, or perhaps it was in a crowded cafe. Just a glimpse of a disturbed and disturbing face, an overheard raucous laugh or simpering plea, the words indistinguishable but the tone unmistakable; or perhaps you work with me and avoid the rest room when you know I'm in there. And look shiftily around when I forcibly engage you in conversation. Yes, you know me, you need not deny it.
But I want you to like me, that's the truth. Let me touch you gently on the elbow or shoulder and look you in the eye. You are very good-looking and I don't say that to just anyone. Let's be friends, you and I, and share all of our secrets. By "our", I mean "my", and by "secrets" I mean "commonplace notions". Wait, I saw you look away; am I boring you?
Are you uncomfortable? Not yet?