All men, I think, wonder who the secret man that lives inside them is and whom they will meet in the mirror when they stop shaving. They wonder if that man is better than the one they know. If that elder sage or fantasy wizard or feral mountain man will be wiser than they, and when they are lost, if that dude will light up his staff and guide them through the dwarven mines and out of the wilderness. Based on the overall effect, the secret man inside me is the part-time bookkeeper for the Church of Satan. I’m the guy who goes in every other Monday and goes through the ledger and complains to
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