In the bathroom of my Dad’s house I stand in a towel staring into the mirror. Fresh from the shower I fixate my eyes on a renegade hair that has recently decided to sprout from a pore on my back.

This deeply perplexes me as I am a hairless creature by nature. It sucks. I hate being hairless. I have spent many a night drowning my kidneys in Jack Daniels with the hope that burly man hair would explode all over my chest and chin. But for every empty bottle I toss into the garbage I remain equally hairless. Looking less like a bear and more like a wirey hairless cat.

Raising a razor blade to him, I being to interrogate, “Elongated hair, defiler of pores, how the fuck did you get here? What do you want from me?”
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