There are cameras everywhere, in the particles of the air, in the water coming from the tap, making up 60% of who I am, making up a hundred percent of who I am.
"I'm supposed to be working on my blog right now..." I say, not knowing where to look.
"The cameras are in your glasses." says a voice coming from everywhere, in my head and in the air; in the clouds and in my hair.
"When are you going to shave your face? You know that the war against our parents continues."
His face is in the mirror, his hand upon my shoulder.
"I like your face." he says.
I stand staring.