When a person cannot deceive himself the chances are against his

Host: The dawn crawled slow and pale across the edge of the city, smearing faint silver on the windows of an old train station. The platform was nearly empty, save for the faint echo of footsteps and the distant cry of gulls that wandered inland. Smoke curled from a vendor’s cart, and the scent of burning bread mingled with the metallic smell of the rails.

Jack stood near the end of the platform, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his breath rising like ghostly clouds in the cold air. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days — grey eyes sharp yet hollow, a man caught between fatigue and defiance. Jeeny arrived moments later, a soft wool scarf wrapped around her neck, her hair slightly damp from the morning mist. She stopped beside him without speaking.

Host: The train tracks hummed quietly, as if remembering where they’d been.

Jeeny: (softly) You’ve been up all night again.

Jack: (without turning) Didn’t feel like lying to myself today.

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) That’s an odd way to start a morning.

Jack: Is it? Mark Twain once said, “When a person cannot deceive himself, the chances are against his being able to deceive other people.” I’ve been thinking about that. I think he meant — honesty’s a curse. Once you stop lying to yourself, you stop being able to play the game.

Host: The wind brushed through the station, tugging at the papers and dust, carrying the hollow sound of truth between them.

Jeeny: Or maybe he meant the opposite — that truth starts from within. If you can’t lie to yourself, it means you’ve learned who you are. That’s not a curse, Jack. That’s clarity.

Jack: Clarity doesn’t help much when the world runs on illusion. Look around — ads, promises, politics, even love. Everyone’s selling a version of themselves that isn’t real. The ones who do it best — they win. The ones who can’t — they stand on train platforms, staring at fog.

Jeeny: (turns to him, her eyes bright) You think deception is strength?

Jack: Not strength. Survival.

Host: A train rumbled in the distance, its low roar swelling like a heartbeat beneath the ground. Jeeny’s hands tightened around her bag strap, her breath visible in the crisp air.

Jeeny: Then why does it destroy the ones who use it most? Look at the history of it — Nixon, Madoff, every CEO who built their empire on lies. They all thought deceit was survival too, until it wasn’t.

Jack: (with a dry laugh) They got caught — that’s their failure, not their philosophy.

Jeeny: No, Jack. Their failure was the philosophy. You can’t keep lying to the world without first corrupting the part of yourself that knows better.

Jack: (coldly) You sound like a preacher.

Jeeny: Maybe truth deserves a sermon once in a while.

Host: The sunlight slid between the pillars, touching her face with soft gold, while Jack’s stayed in shadow. The contrast was sharp, deliberate — as if the morning itself had chosen sides.

Jack: You really believe self-deception is worse than lying to others?

Jeeny: It’s the root of it. Every tyrant starts by lying to themselves. Every betrayal begins with someone convincing themselves they’re justified. You can’t cheat others without first dulling your own conscience.

Jack: (snorts) And yet, the world is run by those people. History rewards the liars, not the honest ones. Honesty gets you crucified.

Jeeny: (quietly) Maybe. But every crucifixion changes the world more than a thousand lies ever could.

Host: Her words hung in the cold air, trembling slightly — fragile but fierce, like a candle’s last flame refusing to die. Jack looked away, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his face shifting like he was fighting something unspoken.

Jack: You think people want the truth? They don’t. They want comfort. They want to be fooled, gently. They want to believe they’re good, that the world’s fair, that life makes sense. You tell them otherwise, and they’ll turn on you.

Jeeny: And yet you’re still standing here, talking to me about truth. That means part of you still believes it matters.

Jack: (with a bitter smile) Or maybe I just ran out of lies that could make me feel better.

Host: A long silence followed. The train appeared — a dull, silver serpent slicing through the fog. The sound grew louder, closer, until the ground itself seemed to vibrate beneath their feet.

Jeeny: Jack… maybe Twain was warning us — not about lying to others, but about what happens when you stop believing your own lies. You lose the ability to pretend, and pretending is what keeps most people alive.

Jack: Exactly. You lose your disguise — and the world eats you alive. That’s what I’ve learned.

Jeeny: (gently) Or maybe that’s when you start living for real.

Host: The train slowed, the screech of metal against metal sharp enough to make their hearts flinch. A few passengers stepped off — blurred faces, moving like ghosts through the steam. Jack watched them go, his expression unreadable.

Jack: You ever lied to yourself, Jeeny?

Jeeny: Every day.

Jack: (raises an eyebrow) And you admit it so calmly?

Jeeny: Because it’s human. I lie to myself that I can save everyone I love, that people are good, that hope never runs out. Those lies keep me kind.

Jack: (soft laugh) That’s poetic. But isn’t that still deception?

Jeeny: Maybe. But some lies build you, not break you. There’s a difference between deceiving yourself to escape guilt — and deceiving yourself to keep faith alive.

Jack: (thoughtfully) You’re saying some lies are worth believing.

Jeeny: Only the ones that make you better.

Host: The wind swept through again, scattering leaves across the platform. Jack’s eyes followed them, distant, as if tracing memories he didn’t want to revisit.

Jack: I once lied to myself that I could fix everything — the job, the marriage, the mess I made. Told myself I could hold it together if I just worked harder, smiled longer. But it was all a con. I couldn’t even convince myself anymore. That’s when the real fear started.

Jeeny: (gently) Because you saw yourself clearly for the first time.

Jack: (nods slowly) Yeah. And it wasn’t pretty.

Host: The train doors opened behind them, a hollow hiss like the exhale of something mechanical and alive. Passengers shuffled, the scent of diesel and dust filling the air. Neither moved.

Jeeny: Jack, that’s the irony — when you stop being able to deceive yourself, it hurts like hell, but it’s also the beginning of something pure. You start seeing the world as it is — not as you wish it to be.

Jack: (quietly) And that’s supposed to make it easier?

Jeeny: No. Just more honest. And maybe that’s what Twain meant — if you can’t deceive yourself, you can’t deceive others because you’ve outgrown the illusion. You stop playing the game.

Host: Jack looked at her — really looked. The fog behind her had thinned, and the light caught her eyes, turning them into deep, steady brown pools. For a moment, the edges of cynicism in him seemed to blur.

Jack: So, in a world built on deception, truth becomes a kind of rebellion.

Jeeny: Exactly. It’s not about being pure — it’s about being awake.

Host: The train’s whistle pierced the morning, long and mournful. Jack picked up his bag, but didn’t step forward. He lingered, his shadow stretching across the platform, meeting hers.

Jack: You know, I used to think lies were tools — a way to manage the chaos. But now I see they’re just walls. And maybe I’ve been hiding behind mine too long.

Jeeny: Then step out. The world’s colder out here, but it’s real.

Host: The sun rose higher, slicing the fog apart with clean light. The station glowed faintly golden — a quiet kind of redemption settling over the concrete and steel.

Jack: (half-smiling) So, you think Twain wasn’t being cynical after all?

Jeeny: No. He was warning us — if you can’t lie to yourself anymore, it’s not a loss. It’s evolution.

Host: Jack gave a short, uncertain laugh — the kind that breaks into honesty without meaning to. The train doors began to close.

Jack: Maybe I’ll try living without the mask for a while. See what it feels like.

Jeeny: (smiling softly) Scary, probably.

Jack: (nods) Yeah… but maybe not as scary when someone’s there to call you out on your lies.

Host: The train pulled away, leaving behind a trail of smoke and sunlight. Jack and Jeeny stood together on the platform, the morning unfolding around them — clear, unfiltered, and un