SLICK

It had to be impeccable.  He carried a little set of tools with him everywhere we went.  A pocket mirror, tweezers, a little bitty comb, three different sets of tiny scissors, and a disposable razor for, well.  Just in case.  He'd once been described as "well-manicured," and the notion made him so happy that it became an obsession to him.  "Well-manicured."  He worked over that mustache of his every hour.  At least just a swipe with that ridiculously tiny comb of his, if not a whole half hour spent on trimming and plucking and maybe even a quick little shave to maintain the clean lines of definition.  If you were to ask him, he'd say he spent so much time on manscaping because he line between swanky mustache and "fu-manchu" was perilously close.  But nobody asked him that, or much of anything.  Because all he was to his co-workers and neighbors?  The creepy guy who was always working over his pervert mustache.