Day 21.

     Opened the door a crack today, and peeked out. The neighboring apartment’s door was ajar. I started to open my own door moreso, creeping out slowly. Trying to keep it together. The moment I fell under the dire glare of the halogen bulb, though, I knew I couldn’t do it. What they would have seen then. I’m probably unique in this predicament, probably the only son of a bitch unlucky enough to…to be afflicted. I know this, and I’ve known it for, I guess this is what, three weeks now? So of course I closed the door.
     There was nothing else to do, you know? I mean, picture this. I slowly sidle out through my door, starkly lit under that oppressive bulb, and Mrs. Anderson steps out her front door, and sees me. She’s an old lady, like I said before. On Day 6, I mean, when I saw her through the peephole. She’s old. She catches one glimpse of my rotting corpse, and shit, I could literally scare her to death. I mean, I’ve been trying a lot of lotions–like, cocoa butter and shit. Face cream. That, what’s it called, Gold Bond Powder. That stuff’s been helping a little. I think. But it might all be psychosomatic. Don’t get me wrong. I know it can only do so much. I know that. I just think, like, one day, if I were able to–if someone saw me, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it could be. That’s all.