My friends and I are in an on-again/off-again writing club where the rules are simple. Every two weeks you have to submit three short stories that it took you 20 minutes or less to write. These are the results.

I used to have a moustache.  Seriously.  And by that I mean I honestly used to have a moustache and was incredibly serious about it.  As a freshman in high school I’d been told it’d make me look older by my pseudo junior girlfriend.  I commenced work immediately.

She obscured her mediocre beauty with the horrendous mushroom haircut favored by women’s college basketball coaches in the early nineties.  Back then black chicks wore it too, started the trend really.  The haircut, not the moustache.  We called it a Tilt.

The best moustache I ever achieved was the adolescent Mexican.  But it darkened the lip.

We never had sex.  The moustache led to sex elsewhere though, so I never faulted her for anything.  I did fuck her sister though.  In the back of her parents’ van and afterward it was quiet.