“Shit. Not again.” The body Avery woke up in this time had BO that smelled like moldy onions. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the little black hairs protruding from every pore, like a forest of sweaty spider legs.
What was that phrase they taught you in college? Don’t body share while intoxicated? Next time she’d be more responsible. She’d only have one or two drinks max before she downloaded.
Avery called Body Share tech support. She went straight to voicemail. That’s right. It was Sunday.
She rubbed her face. She did like the beard though.
I’ve traditionally published twelve short works of fiction, one poem, and I’ve won two Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future awards. I currently live near Washington D.C. and work for a non-profit.
Twitter Handle: @jbjohnsonwrites