This morning, I put a brown paper br shopping bag over my head. br I determined where to poke out holes br for my eyes, then removed the bag and did so. br br br Then, I put the paper sack back over my head br and marched eight blocks down Elmwood Avenue br to the Municipal Housing Office. br br br As I entered the office, I removed the bag. br Some of my face came off with it. br 'I'm here to apply for Section 8, ' I said meekly. br The four hundred pound creature behind br the desk grunted at me. br br br 'We only take people with intact faces, ' br she snarled, the contempt in her voice palpable. br 'Come back when you look like a real br human being.' she added mockingly. br br br 'Your face is a pail of lard.' I told her, spitting br on her desk before I shuffled out the door. br Once home, I tried duct tape, liquid cement, superglue. br br br Anything which would restore my face br to a semblance of social respectability. br Nothing worked. Nothing could. br br br My face will only become whole br when I lose all shame.