Now Fred was not a cat/dog person. He had never before had a pet but he figured it wouldn't be too hard. Plus, he’d read on a Writer’s Block Busters’ forum, that pets helped to soothe and quickly end writer’s block. Fred, thinking this just might cure him, quickly looked up the closet shelter, with a fostering program. After all, he had no intention of keeping the animal afterwards. The closet shelter turned out to be Fallen Angels Animal Shelter.

Quickly jotting down the address he rushed out of the door.

Only to rush back into the house quickly slamming the door to cut off his neighbors' scandalized shrieks. Fred wondered what had gotten into the woman. Glancing down at himself he saw that he did indeed have clothes on but… what were these? Fred rushed to the bathroom and looked at himself for what felt like the first time in several months.

He had on clothes alright, but what he had forgotten was that they were the same old basketball shorts and college t-shirt from two weeks ago. But, that wasn’t the worst thing. He gazed in abject horror at the visage in front of him. It was a man that he didn’t even recognize. Instead, he resembled the town’s resident homeless lush, Old Man Dayne.

His once carefully coiffed and gelled hair and beard had gone wild, evolving far beyond unruly, to a seven generation magpie nest. Only, instead of a collection of shiny objects to attract a female, his contained evidence of all the various activities, from foodstuffs, debris from his gardening phrase, dust bunnies from his cleaning fix, to paint, from his, break the block, through colors phrase.

Needless to say, Fred was a mess and so far from the cultured and distinguished man he had been. It was no wonder he wasn’t recognized by his neighbor of 5 years. Granted he had never before spoken to the woman so there was that too.

He felt an emotion that he had not felt since he was a child, shame. Shaking his head, Fred muttered, “No, naw man. I ain’t goin out like that.” With his view unobscured by feelings of failure, he tackled his latest project, himself.

He got clean.

Washed his hair and thought about trimming it, but decided that he would be fine with the rugged manly look. With that in mind, he looked up images of black guys with long hair.

Swiping through he found that most of the guys’ hair was way longer than his and the texture was different too. Going back to the top he typed in a different search black guys with medium length hair.

Huh, it seemed that the sponge look would fit him best, but he didn’t have a sponge for his hair, unless.

Dropping the phone on the counter he quickly dipped down and opened the cabinet door under the bathroom sink and rummaged through his nephews hair supplies. Yes, there it was, a sponge.

He remembered his sister saying something about it. He hadn’t paid attention, but he had remembered his nephew working his small hands in circular motions on his head to create the pattern and being proud of his success.

Smiling, he grabbed the sponge and set to work. After he had gotten his hair to a suitable spiky interval that reminded him of King T'Challa from Black Panther he began to work on his beard.

Looking up beard styles he was mildly alarmed by the various different styles, narrowing it down to three, the bald man beard, the barely shaved beard and the friendly mutton chop. While the friendly mutton chop looked like it would fit his writer persona best he wasn’t sure he could pull it off with his current barber skill set. So, barely shaved beard look it was.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Kneeling down again, he reached into the very back of his sink cabinets and pulled forward his clippers. They were still in the box that they came in, only missing the Christmas wrapping paper. Blowing the dust off it he opened it and read the instructions. Deciding he had better watch a YouTube tutorial.

Scrutinizing the video twice and once more for luck. He whispered a prayer, plugged the clippers in and turned it on. Taking a moment to adjust to the vibrations, he took a deep breath and began carefully, methodically, trimming his beard. Until it resembled the guy in the YouTube tutorials' barely shaved beard. Satisfied, he inspected the young man in the reflection and nodded in approval.

While he wasn’t the stylish cultured person that he had been, he no longer looked like Old Man Darnel at least. If he was honest with himself, he actually liked the way he looked, sort of like a skinny hipster. If he looked close and squinted as he flexed his arms he could see the budding of a muscle. He laughed, all he needed now was a beanie hat. Pausing for a minute to think, he realized, he just might have one.

Muttering to himself he opened his closet doors and pushed his clothes, which were now, thanks to his recent efforts, organized by color, type and occasion, to the right, where the Christmas gifts of old rested. There he found what he was looking for. A pink checker patterned shirt, a gift from his brother, jeans with holes in the knees, another gift from his brother and there right on the shelf above a beanie hat. This time a gift from his sister. He remembered when he’d opened the gift. What were her words? Aww yes,

“A hat to cover up his growing bald spot.”

As if he would ever go bald. The Muckeneer men never went bald, although.., they did have a nasty tendency to die young.

Best to not think of that now, he thought and focused on putting on his new outfit.

Checking himself out in the shirt (the jeans didn’t fit and the hat covered his majestic hair, so just no) he had to admit he looked good. The hipster style suited him. Maybe his siblings were on to something… okay maybe his brother, but definitely not his sister.

Nodding to himself he had a vague sense he was forgetting something. “I am clean, got pants, socks, shirt, shoes, car keys, phone, belt…. What am I forgetting? Shrugging, he would figure it out later.

Just as he stepped outside a gust of wind hit him. “Haa'ekkSHIEW!!!!” sneezed Fred as he recovered, another gust of wind rushed past, throwing the sneezed out droplets of spittle and hot air, back into his face. That whiff of his breath just about knocked him to his knees.

“Aww Gawd..” wailed Fred coughing as he tried not to choke on his own breath as he rushed back into the house. Where he made a mad dash to his bathroom and got down to the business of not only brushing his teeth and tongue, twice. Quickly followed by, no less than, three rounds of alternating flossing and gargling with mouthwash.

Satisfied, he worked up his nerve and did the age old breath test, cupping his hand over his mouth huffed and sniffed. Minty Fresh. Sighing in pleasure, and smiling with his now, pearly white and sparkling teeth, he sauntered out the door. Whistling to himself. Waving half heartedly at his neighbor, who cautiously waved back, as he walked to his car. Which due to its recent, detailed cleaning, and waxing, shone a brighter silver than the day he brought it, and started for Fallen Angels Animal Shelter.

He arrived in seemingly no time at all, traffic being light. Most people were at work during this time of day, especially on a Monday. Yet, even though it was later in the afternoon, the sun mercilessly beat down on him, and the air seemed to shimmer over the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. He walked quickly to the forlorn looking building and hoped that it looked better on the inside then it did on the outside.

Upon entering, the first thing Fred noticed was the welcome chill of the air conditioner, as it worked to cool down his sweat covered body. He took a moment to appreciate it and simply soak up the coolness. Taking a deep breath, his nose instinctively wrinkled, at the pervading musk of so many animals in close proximity. Although he couldn’t see them, he could definitely hear dogs barking and felines wailing and was that a bird squawking? Briefly, he wondered if this was a good idea, but before he could turn around, the door closed. Setting off a loud Ding Dong that resounded throughout the building.