Changes

Once in a while, as I descend my spiral staircase, yawning to greet the new day, I say a quick "Hi" to the random person standing by the heater, trying to stay warm in our drafty, former barn of a house. "That's funny," I think, "usually Moss is standing by the heater, warming his buttocks."

Who is this guy and why is he blocking all the heat? He didn't pay for it!

Only then do I recognize the familiar plaid pajama pants, hairy stomach, and buzzed haircut. It doesn't help that he's not wearing his glasses, though that will give me the advantage if it comes down to fisticuffs. Without them his visual acuity is limited to colorful objects and designs known to the common man as "Art."

What drives a man to dispose of his signature facial hair?

I do not know. I do not know...

-Ash