“Scurf: The scales or small shreds of epidermis that are continually exfoliated from the skin.” –Dictionary.com

Miles began to shed glow-in-the-dark scurf. He never knew the definition of scurf, until he was the subject of headlines around the world. “Man Sheds Florescent Scurf” and “Scurf Man Glows in the Dark.”

Some found it beautiful. Fairy dust, they said. A holiday decoration out of season. Others were disgusted. Especially his roommate, Brently.

“Your skin cells are everywhere,” said Brently. “Do you ever shower?”

“Yours are everywhere too. You just can’t see them.”

“I liked it better when I didn’t know anybody’s skin cells were anywhere. Can you get a wet rag or something? This is just insane. Have they figured out why this happened yet?”

“No,” said Miles. “They’ve come up with some more weird ideas, like maybe I ate a boar from the Black Forest that was contaminated by radioactivity from Chernobyl. But I’m not radioactive. So then they thought it was something in the water, but only the sip of water I drank.”

“Maybe aliens altered you. Or the government.”

“Or my roommate.”

“Not credible.”

“True.”

“You don’t have to agree with me so easily.”

Miles got an old t-shirt, wet it, and mopped some florescent scurf off the coffee table. They glittered on the t-shirt like fish scales. “The worst part is that the only girls interested in me now are really weird.”

“So find a girl who sheds scurf just like you. You could have your own reality TV show finding her.”

“Can you just call it skin cells? I hate that word.”

“What’s so bad about scurf?”

“It sounds like scurvy, or something you’d name your dog.”

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