S wanted T to trim his nose hairs. They had gotten out of control. I can't, said T. Some bats live in my nose. S looked up T's nose and saw bats sleeping in the nose hairs. Eventually the nose hairs got so long they formed a mustache. I always wanted a mustache, said T, and then the mustache grew into a beard. But I never wanted a beard. Squirrels and rabbits and owls came and lived in the beard. The birds came and took hairs from the beard and weaved them into a nest on T's head. His entire head was hair. T was hair head. At the back of his head some developers moved in and carved a river down T's back and built a row of cottages on each side of the river. What the fuck, said T, twisting his hair head, trying to look down the river on his back. His limbs were covered in redwoods. Your eyes, said S, they look like baby Lake Michigan's. T stopped sleeping because his body was so loud. He began walking one night until he found a barren field where depressed lumberjacks lived in brown tents. He sat down in the empty field and waited for the mad desperate swinging of axes to cut his arms, chop the water from his eyes.