Here is what must be known:
The ailment described in the following account is sometimes known as its slang alternative: "Rotscalp" because of its violent, festering attack on a person's skin, notorious for starting on one's scalp.
Ennie Osiris Jr. woke up one day in April, knowing that he was going to contract a disease but he couldn't know what or where it was going to come from. He, nauseous from anxiousness, rushed out of bed to start an extreme variant on his daily routines. This was the "healthy version" of breakfast, the "healthy version" of brushing his teeth. This was the "healthy version" of forgetting to look in the mirror and the "healthy version" of putting socks on too quickly to notice discoloration. Ennie would have agreed with you if you had told him he was stupid for ignoring the obvious. I would disagree with the both of you. It was natural for him to react the way that he did because all week he had been haunted by the recurring theme of general unwellness.
All in one daily outing, he revisted each place he'd gone throughout the past few days. First of these was the prototypical grocery chain where he usually stocked up on whatever drinks happened to be less than a dollar and whatever deli meats happened to be more than a dollar fifty. This was where he acquired orange juice. At the checkout line, he noticed again a slight crust in the hems of the cashier's apron. For months of going to this store, he'd debated in his head whether or not to think foul of this middle-aged, wrinkled, sad, blonde woman. The obvious bodily residue on her outfit was the final push he needed to affirm that this lady was gross. He was sure that proximity alone would tarnish his concurrent well-being. he dipped, and ran back to his car.
Apparently agitation wasn't enough. Healthy as he was, or could still be, he hightailed his narrow ass to his doctor. Ennie had a doctor. He had that luxury. That's why he's uptight. Still having neglected the usual precursory symptoms under the confines of his crusty ass cumstained socks, he had no idea that the doctor, only willing to help him as far as a routine check up, would not see the particulars of his pending disease. We're all gonna die.
His doctor didn't notice anything wrong so basically the main character started thinking things were sort of fine until he found out that his scalp was getting red as all hell and then it started to spread and it hurt really bad and it drove him mad and his life was never the same for a little while and then he died.
The ailment described in the following account is sometimes known as its slang alternative: "Rotscalp" because of its violent, festering attack on a person's skin, notorious for starting on one's scalp.
Ennie Osiris Jr. woke up one day in April, knowing that he was going to contract a disease but he couldn't know what or where it was going to come from. He, nauseous from anxiousness, rushed out of bed to start an extreme variant on his daily routines. This was the "healthy version" of breakfast, the "healthy version" of brushing his teeth. This was the "healthy version" of forgetting to look in the mirror and the "healthy version" of putting socks on too quickly to notice discoloration. Ennie would have agreed with you if you had told him he was stupid for ignoring the obvious. I would disagree with the both of you. It was natural for him to react the way that he did because all week he had been haunted by the recurring theme of general unwellness.
All in one daily outing, he revisted each place he'd gone throughout the past few days. First of these was the prototypical grocery chain where he usually stocked up on whatever drinks happened to be less than a dollar and whatever deli meats happened to be more than a dollar fifty. This was where he acquired orange juice. At the checkout line, he noticed again a slight crust in the hems of the cashier's apron. For months of going to this store, he'd debated in his head whether or not to think foul of this middle-aged, wrinkled, sad, blonde woman. The obvious bodily residue on her outfit was the final push he needed to affirm that this lady was gross. He was sure that proximity alone would tarnish his concurrent well-being. he dipped, and ran back to his car.
Apparently agitation wasn't enough. Healthy as he was, or could still be, he hightailed his narrow ass to his doctor. Ennie had a doctor. He had that luxury. That's why he's uptight. Still having neglected the usual precursory symptoms under the confines of his crusty ass cumstained socks, he had no idea that the doctor, only willing to help him as far as a routine check up, would not see the particulars of his pending disease. We're all gonna die.
His doctor didn't notice anything wrong so basically the main character started thinking things were sort of fine until he found out that his scalp was getting red as all hell and then it started to spread and it hurt really bad and it drove him mad and his life was never the same for a little while and then he died.
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