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Oscar lived in a nice, peaceable home. Made out of logs that his fathers had felled, it has a sort of homely air to it. Oscar kept this in mind as he woke each morning, feeling lonely in his social perspective, but his spirit tranquil as he felt his ancestors presence all about him. Lifting himself off his worn bed, it sighing in relief of Oscar's weight, he traversed into the bathroom. With a basin of water in front of him he washed his face. Cupping the water in his harsh and heavy hands and colliding it as well as he could to his forehead, to his cheeks, and to his chin. He was not a man of luxury, and with the absence of a mirror, he pulled out an old-fashioned razor. Foaming his face with soap, he had someone managed to develop a technique of shaving his face without being able to see what he was doing. He washed off the lather, stroking his chin to see how effective his stroke was. Seeming satisfied, he sat down for breakfast as he thought over what he would do for the day. Though Oscar lived without any social interactions, he was surprisingly liberal with his adventurous activities.

And then I got bored. blaugh