He was lying; I could tell. It was in the way he was standing, shifting from one foot to the other, rubbing the toe of this running shoe in the dirt, and the way he wouldn't meet my eyes. He hung his head, letting the ball cap shield him from my scrutiny.

I didn't trust him, not for a minute. He displayed all of the signs of dishonesty that I knew. But more than that, I realized, as I looked him over thoroughly and he attempted to meet my harsh gaze and quickly realized he was no match, he didn't trust me, either. The odor of distrust hung between us, poking sharply at my nose, making me sick to my stomach, and leaving such a foul taste in my mouth that I could never hope to be rid of it while he was around.

So here we were, the both of us trapped in an arrangement we could not undo, and neither really able to do the job either. It was a harsh reality when one realized just how much hinged on our ability to do our jobs and do them well, for both of us. Realizing this, I steeled my will, told myself sternly that I had to get a grip. People work with bad smells and harsh sights and sounds all the time. With harsh sights you don't look, with harsh sounds you close the door. With harsh smells, you put a close pin to your nose. And that was what I intended to do.