Just above a waistband sits a most peculiar thing. The most common human blemish whose lauds we oft forget to sing. Some are small and dainty, pushed neatly in like a dimple in the desert of skin. Others hemorrhage outward, squishy and pale, the extra flesh bloated by strange and unnamed ****** juices. Often adorned with a jewel or a stone, the awkward interruption of the otherwise plain torso is unconsciously celebrated, for it serves us all a greater purpose. Reminding each person from where he came. The living proof that we are all connected, at one point or another, to someone else.