[ WP ] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar 's body . The bigger the lie , the deeper and larger the mark . One day , you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen .

The subway rattled it's syncopated song, barumm... bum, bum... barumm... bum, bum... barumm... bum, bum. About twenty lonely people swayed back and forth in harmony within the car. There are usually a few homeless people at this hour. One typically sat in the far back corner, asleep. 
 
 But tonight there was just a guy with puffy eyes in a white tee shirt with sleeves that came to around the middle of his bicep. He was thin, but not sickeningly so, moderately handsome, and utterly defeated judging by his posture. His most striking feature of all was a newly formed slash down his forearm. The largest I've ever seen, by far. Still wet, they would say. His second most striking feature was the absence of any other scars. 
 
 Now usually, you get at least a few scars growing up. It's kind of like touching a burner as a kid. You just have to learn from experience. You might tell a fib at school about homework, and pets that have suddenly acquired an appetite for homework, and you collect a few scars along the way. I sure as hell did at least. 
 
 But this guy had to have made it all the way here, in New York City of all places, without telling a single lie. Well, until today. I was intrigued. I mean, how could you not be? He was Mother-freaking-Teresa, but even she probably failed to disclose the secret location of her breadbasket base every now and then. `` Dantooine... they're all on Dantooine,'' she might have said. 
 
 I approached, with caution. I recognize this was selfish of me, but maybe the guy needed someone to talk to. 
 
 `` Hey, man. You doing ok?'' I said, conveying empathy the best my socially awkward self could manage. 
 
 `` Yeah,'' the kid, who I just realized was only about 26, if that, said with such brevity that he may as well said nothing at all. 
 
 `` Look, I do n't usually intrude on people's private affairs. It's just, usually a homeless guy who goes by Squirrel sits where you are now and I do n't think the strongest constitution in the bowel department, if you get my meaning.'' 
 
 The kid smiled at least, wiping his right eye with his scarless forearm, and moved to the bench seat next to where I was standing. `` I'm John,'' he said. 
 
 `` Hi John, it's a pleasure. I'm Matt.'' I sat down next to him. `` Maybe if you tell me about your day, you will be distracted enough to forget it.'' 
 
 `` I guess we are n't really going anywhere, are we.'' The doors to the subway car opened to dump out about half its contents. Those left in the car were otherwise enthralled in their phones or their headphones. `` How many more stops do you have?'' 
 
 `` Twelve.'' 
 
 `` Me too.'' He looked around the car, as the doors closed and the car lurched forward with the same barumm... bum, bum... barumm... bum, bum. I guess he adjudged the car private enough, so he began his story. 
 
 It all started with a girl. Imagine that. `` Ah, to be young again,'' I thought. Brown hair, decent looks, and smart, he said. He had dated her for four years. They had graduated college together, fallen in love, and moved in to a too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. They even got one of those stupid plant holders that hang out of window sills. You know the ones that kill about eight people a year in a city like the Big Apple. 
 
 John had been the perfect boyfriend to Sally. He got her cute gifts that were within his budget, but not too within his budget, and he was nice to all of her friends. He even took her to a Giants game or two. Hell, he even ended up on the big screen for a kiss that ended up being televised on WFAN because of the quirky way he tossed the popcorn aside and did one of those `` back from the war'' kisses. 
 
 They even got engaged. 
 
 But last year, Sally was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder that changed her behavior. Sally was never the same again. She had flashes of anger, where she would insult John and his family. She would talk of other guys she had been with in the past, when she never did that before. She would even compare John to other guys that they had been around, telling him why they were better than him. This went on for a year. 
 
 She demeaned him to the point of no return, yet he remained there with her. John kept her medication in order and cooked for her, because processes were lost at that point. After Sally lost control of her colon he cleaned their Murphy Bed in their too-small-but-hey-we-are-achieving-our-dreams-and-living-in-the-big-city-oh-look-a-dead-rat-its-nothing-we-will-get-used-to-it apartment. He sat with her in the hospital for two weeks and lost his accounting job due to it. He was there today when she died. 
 
 Sally had looked up at him within her last hour and said she remembered the day they watched a dog in Central Park on a long leash literally wrap its owner up `` 101 Dalmatians'' style and drag him a few yards. They laughed aloud, heads back like Peanuts characters, like they had many times before Sally became ill. She looked up at John, with tears welling in her eyes. For a brief moment, the old Sally was there. 
 
 `` I love you,'' she said. 
 
 `` I love you, too,'' he replied.
