AT THIS POINT, Josh smells like an out-of-work, tent dwelling, back woods brush picker.
I should know, I live on his ass. I am the mournful conglomerate of ingrown hairs, a nasty diaper rash, and very bad hygiene.
I am a Burning Man ass rash, and this is my story.
In the days following Josh’s return from Burning Man, when people ask the question, ‘How was it?’, when he finally scrubs his junk and glandular regions, I will slowly disappear, redness abating, irritation succumbing to baby powder and the like.