is a cairn of shames, towered and teetering on his chest, that the slightest movement will lethally topple: not only the first-order shame of the straight gaze, under which his self-worth was based on their social norms, but the second-order shame of wanting to cater to these norms despite knowing better; and the third-order shame of knowing that even if he tried to cater to them, he’d still fail; and the fourth-order shame of trying anyway.
