The Razor Beckons (or: It’s December 1st, Dude)

“Why did I grow it?” Kyle pondered with conviction, then shrugged. “I mean, it’s fun. Shows I don’t take myself too seriously. But really, it was for the charity. I got a family history of prostate stuff, ya know? It’s the least I could do. Besides, it’s been a great door opener with the chicks. Not all of them, you know — but some bit the line. I got some digits. So, yeah, the month’s over — but I’m thinking of keeping it. It’s not like cancer is going away. Still gotta fight it. And I’m, like, a week away from being able to really make it a full push-broom, with sigh-flutters and everything. I think I might stick with it, at least through Christmas. That’s the plan for now.” He nodded, flaring his nostrils and stretching his mouth so his upper lip jutted out. “What do you think?”

He paused, filling in the space where an answer might be. He stared into the mirror, his skin appearing under-cooked in the glow of the fluorescent bathroom light. Dragging his thumb across the prickly strands of hair under his nose, Kyle was convinced anyone he would’ve wanted to talk to about this definitely would have thought this was a pretty great idea.

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