Son of the Slob

by Aron Beauregard

And the truth is, people are ugly, even uglier than me.” Dr.

In many ways, it was like my face, except there was no proverbial sheet for me to shield myself with. No way to cover up my history. It would always be there for the world to see and point at.

don’t believe in parallel universes but I wish that I did. I wish this dreadful place could just magically disappear and I could wake up in someone else’s skin.

Pouring concrete and laying black tar were laborious activities, but mending and tending to the rancid gushing wounds that remained ingrained in our flesh was something else entirely.

Sometimes, after a horrible event occurs in a place, a weight continues to hang inside it. The darkness attaches itself like a parasite, and the event and location aren’t just synonymous anymore, they’re one.

disgusting human beings? When I died