That was his motto, his slogan, his catchphrase, his shibboleth.
He had gotten up early and just spend two hours making his hair look like he just got out of bed.
He used to be known as clit face because of the giant ready-to-burst pimple in the center of his forehead, that in the eyes of messed up childhood teenagers looked like one.
Adult life had cleared him of his afflictions and he was now a model. The only downside he knew was his mild cataract he developed because of all the flashes from the photographers camera.
That sometimes lead to him misreading words, “Weird name your parents must have been hippies.”, He told the waitress that soon after slapped him in the face.
Moments later his agent had landed him a high end job for an advertising agency.
He asked his agent if it was for anything like acne cream campaigns or something else embarrassing, but his agent assured him that wasn’t the case.
The photographer loved his just-out-of-bed look and the photo shoot got started, 15 rolls of film later they were done.
A couple of weeks later he was looking out his apartment window at the bus stop below waiting for the city bus to pass by.
At exactly 12:42 it arrived, and then he saw.
It wasn’t advertising acne, or erection problems not even hidden gay feelings.
The advertisement was for an bank that got saved by government funding and just started with a ‘clean’ slate.
The problem was that he had a gigantic pimple on his face just like in his teen years and he had no idea how it got there.
He was sure he checked himself in the mirror that morning, heck he was sure he checked himself every moment he was near something reflective.
He followed the bus down the street with his eyes and saw people pointing and laughing at the gigantic clit face on the side of the bus.
He had no clue what was going on, and he became obsessed by it and every day for hours on end he watched the busses pass by with him looking like a fool.
Just a couple of bus stops before the one in front of his apartment the bus passed by a group of misfit adults that had thought up a new way to kill time at their dead end job, during their lunch breaks at the meat packing plant they would line up and have their little competition.
The goal was to hit the face of the guy they used to pick on in high school on the same spot he used to have his giant pimple. Rules were as followed, only a specific brand of glue could be used, which they would mold into a ball and when it hits the side of the bus the ball of glue must stay on or else you lose.
But so far every single time they had their competition only one ball of glue got stuck in the right place.
When one of them finally landed a good hit they all laughed like they did every day in their high school years, the laughter turned into coughing and choking and they went back to work.
He had gotten up early and just spend two hours making his hair look like he just got out of bed.
He used to be known as clit face because of the giant ready-to-burst pimple in the center of his forehead, that in the eyes of messed up childhood teenagers looked like one.
Adult life had cleared him of his afflictions and he was now a model. The only downside he knew was his mild cataract he developed because of all the flashes from the photographers camera.
That sometimes lead to him misreading words, “Weird name your parents must have been hippies.”, He told the waitress that soon after slapped him in the face.
Moments later his agent had landed him a high end job for an advertising agency.
He asked his agent if it was for anything like acne cream campaigns or something else embarrassing, but his agent assured him that wasn’t the case.
The photographer loved his just-out-of-bed look and the photo shoot got started, 15 rolls of film later they were done.
A couple of weeks later he was looking out his apartment window at the bus stop below waiting for the city bus to pass by.
At exactly 12:42 it arrived, and then he saw.
It wasn’t advertising acne, or erection problems not even hidden gay feelings.
The advertisement was for an bank that got saved by government funding and just started with a ‘clean’ slate.
The problem was that he had a gigantic pimple on his face just like in his teen years and he had no idea how it got there.
He was sure he checked himself in the mirror that morning, heck he was sure he checked himself every moment he was near something reflective.
He followed the bus down the street with his eyes and saw people pointing and laughing at the gigantic clit face on the side of the bus.
He had no clue what was going on, and he became obsessed by it and every day for hours on end he watched the busses pass by with him looking like a fool.
Just a couple of bus stops before the one in front of his apartment the bus passed by a group of misfit adults that had thought up a new way to kill time at their dead end job, during their lunch breaks at the meat packing plant they would line up and have their little competition.
The goal was to hit the face of the guy they used to pick on in high school on the same spot he used to have his giant pimple. Rules were as followed, only a specific brand of glue could be used, which they would mold into a ball and when it hits the side of the bus the ball of glue must stay on or else you lose.
But so far every single time they had their competition only one ball of glue got stuck in the right place.
When one of them finally landed a good hit they all laughed like they did every day in their high school years, the laughter turned into coughing and choking and they went back to work.
