My name is John Fou Qing. I’m 22 years old. I believe in taking care of myself, and a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine. In the morning, if my face is a little puffy, I’ll put on a mask of left over, refrigerated rice while doing my daily kegel routine. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the rice I use a deep pore cleanser lotion, comprised of oil that i scooped out of my local sewer. In the shower I use a bar of Irish spring soap, then a shampoo made from pangolin plasma and tea extract, and on the face an exfoliating wash with more sewer oil and coarse sand. After washing myself, I take a handful of Flintstones vitamin supplements and 4 scoops of whey protein powder. I'll take a large dose of caffeine pills to quell my morning migraines, then smoke 12 crack rocks in a row to mentally prepare myself for another day of narrowly surviving the factory. There is an idea of a John Fou Qing. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.