Me at Oh, To Be A Drunk Methuselah

"Oh, To Be A Drunk Methuselah":
As the sock was pulled along her leg and past her ankle, a fine cloud of dry skin, speckled with larger flakes, sprung into the air. Breathing solely through my mouth had solved the foot funk problem, but it backfired when it came to flying skin. I felt a large flake fly past my uvula and stick to the back of my throat. I covered my gag reflex with a few coughs. I was sure I had swallowed a tiny island of death, and I could feel it there, adhering to my insides

Five Star Friday's Edition #103 Is Brought to You by Henry David Thoreau Gets A Fresh Face