It started on January 1. You won't buy that, it's too neat, too obviously symbolic, but that's the truth of the matter. My new life started at the New Year.

Karen and I got in a fight the night before, at the New Year's Eve party. She'd found out about Audrey; it made things complicated. She screamed at me a bit. Called me a lying bastard. Told everyone at the party that I was a lying bastard, too. She was so angry she couldn't even cry. And then she left.

The hangover that morning was unbelievable. I drove anyway. Shouldn't have. My head was imploding. I couldn't focus. "Lying bastard" kept circling around my head.

I wasn't halfway home before I saw cop lights in my mirror. Again, stupid. New Year's is always loaded with cops.

I sat in my car and waited for him to walk up. My eyes felt like they were trying to crawl out of my skull. Lying bastard. She'd been right. I was a lying bastard.

The cop knocked on my window. I rolled it down.

"You been drinking, son?"

I stared at him. His mustache was displaced in time. It belonged on a 70's porn star.

"Yes, sir," I said. It feels good to admit it. "And if we're being a hundred percent honest, I was going about fifteen over, too."

There, Karen, I thought. Are you happy now?

I was still staring at the cop, and I swear—you'll call bullshit on this, too, but I swear—his eyes glazed over. I've read the term before. I never saw it happen. It was like a thin film over his face. Like he was looking at me through a veil.

"Alright, well you head on home, then," he said. "Drive safe."

I figured it out pretty quickly from there. I've always been a fast learner.

"I do think my girlfriend would mind." "Yes, I slept with her." "Sorry, boss, I got in pretty late..."

Glazed eyes, every time. Like their minds have turned off. It doesn't matter how I say it, either. Sarcastic or sincere, it's always the same thing. Some of them laugh, or joke about how humble I am. It works best with positive statements—"Do not give me $20" fogs their eyes, but nothing after that.

It doesn't even need to be out loud. I wrote my parents to tell them how well I'm doing, and they sent back a check. Yesterday, a very polite woman from the IRS called because they found an error in my taxes. Uncle Sam owes me $3,171. (I bet you won't believe that, either. Weird number, right? And when did the IRS start hiring polite people? But it's the truth.)

I think I can do more with it.

Things have really started falling into place. I've gotten better with this...whatever you want to call it. Ability? Power? I never read comics growing up.

I thought small in those first two months. Talking my way out of speeding tickets or into bed with someone pretty—it's tiny thinking. I'm expanding now. Testing my limits.

Because I can make people believe whatever I want. Anything. I have to be careful how I phrase it, but no doors are closed to me now. Gaming the IRS is silly, too; the more honest I am about poor I am, the more convinced people become that I'm an eccentric billionaire.

It's made a lot of things clearer. I read once that money is an illusion, but really everything is. Power, recognition, fame...it's all about how well you can shill.

I'm invited to every party these days. No one says no to me. When I go to bed alone, it's because I want to, not because I had to.

I'd be lying if I said it isn't weird sometimes. I met someone's eyes yesterday and jumped a little; they didn't have that glazed look, and it's been a while since I've seen someone without it. The other day I told Audrey I thought she was beautiful, and she cried and told me to leave.

Little hiccups, that's all. It's nothing serious. Believe me.