That was the first line of a short story I wrote in Junior College, some 11 years ago.
The power is out in our apartment complex. The kids are asleep, so they don't get to enjoy the dark. This is probably for the better for us, since we don't have to deal with the scared Apple or Punkin.
I haven't shaved in a week. This is the longest I've ever gone without shaving since I started shaving regularly, about 15 years ago. I sort of feared trying to grow one, because whenever I grew a moustache, it would itch after the third day.
True to form, after the third day, my face started itching. It still itches a little, not much, from time to time. But it's coming in a little fuller than I first thought it would. Not a Gordon Lightfoot full, but there's some there.
One thing I noticed after letting the hair come in, was that I have grey hairs in my whiskers. This was exceedingly humorous to my wife, because at 32, I still have no greys on top of my head, yet, strangely, there they are in the beard. I don't care. I actually was the one to point them out to the wife. What I find interesting, though, is that I have the greys in the facial hair, but not on the head. That seems somehow contrary to common sense. Maybe it gives me a more distinguished look. Now I need a robe and a pipe, some slippers, and a Bassett Hound.
The power just came back on.