My facial hair is three to four days long, just beginning to soften after its rough brillo phase. Stray cat hairs and random dust cluster in the velcro hooks puncturing my epidermis like a cheaply constructed lint roller. I keep picking at my face, pulling away nothing, still feeling begrimed. A phantom feeling like a cellphone buzz signaling nothing. I palm my face. If your hand is bigger than your face then you’re going to get cancer. It’s not true, but kids would tell that to each other so when the other one, confused and fearful, attempts to discover if he/she is doomed to be a cancer victim, the other one, waiting for the perfect moment, pushes the kid’s hand full into their face smashing them in the nose, bewildering them. And laughing.
It’s all a big joke. Like unbreakable watches, unbreakable hearts and Unbreakable*, the movie starring Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson.
*Actually, that one was good.