My mom said his name was Seth, but we always called him Mr. Moustache. We liked to peek at him when he walked down the sidewalk each morning and evening. That stache was as big as a rat! It curled down his face like an upside down U. His regular hair up on top of his head was grey, but the monster stache was pure black. We argued a lot about whether he dyed it.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “Mr. Moustache.”
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
“Oh, God…” A huge sigh as she slowly draws the razor across the front of her thigh. Such release, such feeling of control and satisfaction; watching those fine, red, bubbly lines form on her skin.
Those comments on her selfie. So what if her hair was short and she preferred girls over boys? The saddest thing was how not even her “friends” came to her defense.
“Mr. Mustache!” Really? Well, she felt better now, her final cut of the day being made.
A beautifully cultivated moustache . Curling up from beneath the nose up to the lip line , in one single heave of smooth , jet black shiny mass.
I am sure he gelled the moustache too. Lot of words were spoken by those lips beneath the glistening wonder, but I was always lost in the moustache . I am sure the main reason for my crush on Mr.P was his fantastic growth on the upper lip.
It was a topic of serious discussion amongst the giggly teens ,as to what is done when the milk is skimmed clean off the cream by the holy bushiness, or how a small comb was carried in the butt-pocket , just to smoothen and groom the dark beauty.
So , one day , when Mr. P walked into the classroom , hugging his biochem notes, devoid of darkness beneath his nose, lot of dreams came crashing down . A storm of whispers broke out, in sheer despair, and a smiling Mr. P had to actually devote first ten minutes of his lecture to-“Why I decided to shave my moustache?”