Martin saw his mustache in the mirror.

“I don’t really know where your head’s been lately,” the mustache said.

Martin groomed the hair on his upper lip with a tiny comb.

“Nowhere. I’ve been very focused lately,” said Martin, leaning closer to the mirror to inspect his fresh shave.

Well all I know is that pile of laundry is getting awfully large in your room. Don’t you think you should get to that? And what’s with all the dirty socks you just throw into a ball in a corner of the living room. What are you DOING, man?”

“I have a system. I have my own system. I don’t think you should worry about it.”

“Well I just think, ya know, that if you don’t want the socks, you should just throw them out, not throw them in a corner. And if you want to wash them, you should put them in the hamper with the rest of your dirty clothes. What kind of system is THIS?”

Martin put his shaving kit away. “I’m late for work,” he said.

“That’s good, very good, work is a big responsibility, getting there on time should be something you worry about.”

Martin walked the three short blocks to the subway station. He swiped his card and passed through the turnstile to the platform, where he waited for his train in the brisk winter air.

“Cold day,” said the mustache.

“Good thing I’ve got you to warm me up,” said Martin, amusing himself.

The mustache didn’t reply.

— c. e. matthews