Bob looked at his tummy and thought for the hundredth time that he should just bite the bullet and get it waxed. Tomorrow, definitely. He sucked his stomach in. The harsh fluorescents of the bathroom light cast a ghastly light across his face as he picked up a comb and styled his 50s coif. “Still got it” he whispered, winking at this reflection.
While Bob ran the comb gently across his tummy, dawn broke in a startling shade of green. Things had been a little strange lately, sure, but this was plain ridiculous. Bob put down the comb, opened the window and shouted angrily “I know what you’re up to, and it’s not even clever!” before slamming the window back down.
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