The Glass Cage
X is sick. And he doesn’t know what to do.
He sings, and sometimes he dances alone where nobody can’t see him.
He likes to talk. Discussing things, many things in front of people he rather knows very well.
He likes to change his job every year or two. Accustomed to interviews, he is pretty confident each time the occasion arrived.
He loves his girlfriend very much. And sometimes asked himself why he’s so lucky.
Friendship is important for him. A close friend has more value for him than to be part of any group of friends. So he chooses wisely his friends.
He seems to be pretty normal.
And sometimes, a beautiful but painful invitation knocks at his door. Saying that he is invited to a small party, with cheering and dancing on 80’ music with people he — of course — not know.
The panic seized him by the stomach. Like that grumpy cat forced to take his bath.
If he had the choice between teaching the life of cephalopods in front of a thousand people — I should remind you that he knows nothing about cephalopods — and going to this small party of maybe 10 strangers, he will surely, with his strong rational capacity, choose the cephalopods.
What is wrong with him, you would ask.