What could I have done? Who have I wronged? Maybe my landlord? That old woman I cut at the grocery store?

Running yesterday over in my mind, I gawk at my now-noticeable sagging female body. As my eyes run up the wrinkles of loose, ebony skin, they land on my face. A very recognizable face, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I’d do me. With a smirk I walk into the kitchen and start the coffee maker. Still nude, and now slightly fascinated with my new body, I open the door to my apartment and bend down to grab the morning paper.

My new face is staring up at me from the front page.