Crabs

The khaki pants completely alter his view but he nevertheless straightens his tie in the mirror. “I wish this were a better day,” he coughs. He stands up, takes off his khaki pants and inspects his genitals in the mirror before him. A look of paternal worry crosses his face as he inspects his wicked bad case of crab lice. He has plucked each one of them from his bed of pubic hair and put a spot of color on each of their backs. The little fuckers die off quickly. He has to peg his khaki trousers so he doesn’t lose them as they die. They deserve a proper burial and he’s had a ceramic flowerpot filled with dirt going for quite some time. Since his morning count it doesn’t look as though any of them have died off. “The day is getting better,” he says and pulls up his slacks.