Henry Robertson, Neptune and I...

It seems to me that we’re all really selfish. How is it that when it comes to others we freely dispense  advice and honest observations like they mean nothing? Ask me about my opinion on any one of my many acquaintances and I’ll probably attempt to break down each and everyone of them listing their faults and merits with medical precision. I would be so honest, blunt and brutal that one would immediately assume that I hated the individual in question. But when it comes to me being true to myself I am next to useless. I find myself stumbling through a series of false epiphanies that seem to strike at the truth but never really get to the heart of the matter. This is probably why people go to therapists. Your therapist is not your friend. You pay your therapist a good deal of money per hour to be honest with you. Honesty is just like any other commodity, it’s scarcity has led to an increase in it’s price. In my opinion it’s a drug. You go to your dealer every so often for a regular dose. You’re addicted to it, you can’t live without it. 
I visited my dealer today, and I wasn’t happy with the product. A little to pure for my tastes I think. To be fair if it were any more diluted I would probably find another. I seem to have digressed quite a bit this time. You’re probably thinking that I’m now going to talk about the several drugs we take and their respective dealers. While this is a worthy challenge it’s not one that I feel like taking today, so rain check. This one is about one of my honesty dealers, Henry Robertson.
Henry’s family crest is a merman version of Poseidon holding a trident. This alone tells you a few things about him. He likes silver, he likes water and most things water related, and his family is fairly well off. That his family is well off is a relatively new occurrence so the family crest isn’t actually his. He found it while trawling through the internet. He claims that it belongs to a line of Robertsons and that he chose it because he’s a Robertson as well. At this point I’ll change my line of description. Which author spills his guts about his protagonist in the first 500 words? 
Henry had always been gifted with the girls. He was also very noble about it. He attributed his success to years of hard work and practice inspiring his friends to strive for the same success with the same tools he claimed to have used. He had us watch Fight Club and meet Joe Black because he claimed that Brad Pitt had the right of it. That if we could somehow exude the air and swagger that the actor brought to every movie we would achieve the honourary position of chick magnet. There may or may not be any truth to this (you’ll never know because a magician’s tricks die with him) but I’m fairly sure that this wasn’t the reason for Henry’s popularity with the girls. As far as I can remember he seemed to charm everyone he met. 
As his squire, vice president and cardinal, I should have seen the signs then. I should have been able to steer him from his current dilemma but I was as blind as he was. This is not a tragedy, nor is it a love story, think of it as atonement for my selfishness. It’s a combination of all the things I should have told him through the years but didn’t. Friends are never as honest as they should be, that is if they want to remain friends. However they retain a thread of guilt for every half truth told. So this is my ultimate act of friendship.

Happy Days,

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