AT SOME POINT IN HISTORY IT WAS CUSTOMARY TO SPIT ON THE GROUND THEN RUN AWAY AFTER ENCOUNTERING A PERSON WITH GINGER COLORED HAIR

I keep imagining my face as a discarded toilet brush floating in a sidewalk puddle. 

And people walk around me while saying things like, "ew," or "oh my," or "why the fuck does that toilet brush have a beard."

And my only thought is to flip over so I can drown to death or at least obscure my eyes in the murk.

But since I'm armless I just watch the disgusted faces of people with my toilet brush face.

Hoping someone will smash a boot down on me.

But they never do.

This goes on for ever.

Like a never-ending end.