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Another Lovely Day In Decayville
by Michael C. Keith

Dead hair. I got corpse head, sighed Carl Lamont, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Freaking dried up straw.

The octogenarian ran his index finger down a deep wrinkle leading from the top of his drawn cheek to the dark crevice in his bristly chin. Withering up like a sun drenched prune. Damn raisin face.

He then pushed at the bulbous bags under his eyes. Where the hell did they come from? How come so big? Like face testicles.

When Carl blinked his drooping lids, filmy liquid ran from the corners of his bloodshot orbs. Failing tear ducts to join the drippy bladder. Can’t stop the body’s terminal flow. Everything’s running out . . . letting go.

He took notice of his ever-growing brows. Andy Rooney awnings. And the long white strands sprouting from his floppy ears. You in there, Rapunzel? Well, get out while the getting’s good!

Finally, Carl inserted his false teeth and spread his thin lips broadly to inspect the result. Better than just the gummies, I guess.

“I’m waiting, honey,” chirped a women’s voice from the other room. “Hope you didn’t put your teeth in yet.”

“Oh, crap!” grumbled Carl.