On a murky tuesday morning, my dad dropped me off at daycare. I jumped out of the car, looked back at my father, and waved goodbye. I stood there staring, I saw myself in the reflection of his shiney, chrome bumper. His clean, white chevy truck slowly rolled off in the distance. I took an aggressive turn and began walking towards the door, following the symmetrical stone pathway. In between each brick, sprouted up dense vegetation, each strand of grass groped around each stone, covering it like warm blanket. I made it to door, before I entered, I took a long, deep breath. Sucking in the crip, heavy air before I entered the dungeon of doom.

Once I entered the room, the daycare counselors greeted me and took my thick, cotton jacket that had a small little hole just above the right pocket. Each day, the hole kept growing due to daily wear n tear and of course the curiosity of my finger. The counselors herded up all twenty of us, as we all stood for the pledge. I stood as tall as I could, back straight, neck stretched longer than a giraffe, and with intimidating, forceful, hazelnut eyes that watched the flag wave and ripple with freedom. Right after the pledge, we jumped right into reading time. We all sat criss cross applesauce, attentively listening, except for one person. Approximately eleven feet to my left and six children over sat Dirty Mike. He was just laying on the ground with his stubby legs sputtered out in different angles. His finger was third knuckle deep up his left nostril, he clearly wasn't just digging for gold, but Mike was searching for the whole damn glory hole. I couldn't bare to stare, so I turned my attention back to the reader.

After reading time, we switched over to partner activities. The counselor grabbed the aged, splintered popsicle sticks that still were stained the color of the ice cream. As he randomly picked, children were ecstatic with their new partners. When called, they ran to each other with a warm, welcoming smile and grabbed each others hand, cheerfully skipping off into the distance. I looked over and saw the remaining three people left: Sarah, Jim, and of corse, Dirty Mike. All eyes were focused on the counselor as he picked the next two sticks. He lifted up his meaty, hairy hand and slowly reached for the sticks. With his ashy thumb and girthy index finger he gradually yanked out the next two. With a raspy voice he shouted, “Sarah and Jim”. My heart sank, I peered over and saw Dirty Mike staring at me with two bug eyes and a dangerous finger that apparently made itself at home, this time in his right nostril. For the next five hours, Mike and I had to do everything together.

One by one, I lifted up each foot, I could hear the grinding of my hip joint each stride I took, closing the distance in between us. Finally, I was face to face with this walking trash bag. I couldn't help myself, but to just stare and study everything about him. His hair looked as if he worked the night shift at Mcdonalds, and used left over Big Mack grease to style his hair. His middle part had a singular, white crease that glided all the way to the back of his head. His eyebrows were so bushy they looked like caterpillars, and of course they matched the greasiness of his hair. Two cyclopean, incest eyes glared into my soul. He was wearing an aged under armour long sleeve that had holes and tears every two inches. His sleeves were stiff from the elbows down, as a thick layer of snot encrusted the circumference of each sleeve. His shirt planted inself about two inches above his belly button. I took a second peak at his belly button and curled up into a ball. Leaking out was some type yellow solidified goop and two long black hairs that swaed freely when a burst of wind was present. He wore long champion pants, and at the knee cap was a fresh grass stain that outlined his patella. He was wearing sketchers that looked like Cujo’s chew toy, and if they had been floating in the sewer system for the last decade. The laces were stripped, the sole had separated from the frame, and the skechers logo was on the verge of peeling off.  He took a bloodcurdling snort that shook the room and then muttered, “whad up bro!”. His breath smelt like a bear climbed over his mouth and dropped a bomb that settled there overnight.

Everything he did was half ass and sloppy, he did everything carelessness and contaminated almost every item in the room with fresh goober that shedded off his finger. I was surprised to not see a slime trail following him. I kept praying for the day to end, and when I shut my eyes, I felt a clammy meat paddle rest on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw Dirty Mike's hand on me, in utter disgust, I ran to the cleaning closet, took off my shirt and took a nap till the day ended. I went home, took a shower, and never returned to daycare again.