RIP, STB

Tonight, I sit in my room, typing lugubriously onto a mournful computer screen, pausing only to wistfully look out the window, pondering what could have been. 

Tonight, I shaved my sweet 'tina beard. 

My sweet 'tina beard served me admirably in its short but meaningful life. I had grown it for two weeks (Bam! Pluscuamperfecto'd), long enough to earn praise and admiration from nearly eight classmates and I can only assume at least half of the ladies in the greater Buenos Aires area. Porteño chicks dig the scruff. 

I conveniently refrained from much photography during facial hair-phase, so you'll just have to take my word  that it was breathtaking, and in no way just a byproduct of my boundless sloth. I take solace in the fact that he is now in a better place, although now that I think about it, it is entirely plausible that he disintegrated in the sink drain after extended contact with Buenos Aires tap water. Either way, it's time to raise some hell with my newfound silky smoothness. RIP, STB.