While being lifted from Graham’s enormous bellybutton and shot through the air like on a rollercoaster, you see in the distance your destination and you are equal measures excited and horrified. From your front row seat under his fingernail you can see how his fingers rush to his armpits. You smell his sweat already moments before the impact.
He scratches and scratches through the forest under his arm till the itch that’s been annoying him for awhile now is gone. You are pushed against his wet skin and you feel the hairs rush past you. Then your feet tangles up in a hair and you are liberated from his nail. And so you hang there, the thick air filled with his stench of beer and sweat. Sometimes shaken up by his fingers that are still not finished obliterating the itch. With each time his big fingers pass, the hair curls more and more and becomes entangled with other strands until you are pinned to his skin, unable to move.
He found the itch and successfully finished it off. You see as his fingers flow away and suddenly the space gets tighter and darker as he closes his pit. His odor becomes even stronger and it’s almost not bearable. You are trapped in this stinky prison of flesh when you hear his snores coming from above you.
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