As a man gets older, the hair within his nostrils will grow long. Gray whiskers forest dense will begin to droop down towards the rim of his upper lip. Soon, the hairs that cover the outer canal of his ears will turn from a colorless fuzz to the lamp black prick of beard hair, frazzled strands flailing about on the lobe and the ear’s minor parts.

Men of a certain age will begin to feel a sharp internal tug and prick, the tickle of hair growth in the urethra, inside the tender shaft of the penis. Once full grown, the hair will stay damp and hook ever so slightly after each trip to the bathroom and then again, the hair grows where none was before and this time at the inside corner of the eye — the brow growth trailing down at the furrow.

Once you’ve approached a century and death is upon you, soft fluff with protrude from under your lips and the upper edge of your gum line. The hair with descend in tiny curls like those atop the head of a newborn. Life and the full thrust of the cosmos treats this moment as a dying star, simultaneously rich with the knowledge of the universe and the understanding that hair is the return of your mother’s egg. In your final days you will be cradled in your self-womb where your end returns you to your own beginning.