"Competition?" it hissed, curling one tip into a question mark. "There is no competition. There is only me."
But the Mayor pointed to the briar-patch beard. "To Monsieur Henri!" lafranceapoil
And indeed, that was the closest to the truth. "Competition
The trouble began when the Mayor, a man whose own chin was as bare as a baby’s heel, declared a "Great Facial Hair Competition." The prize: a lifetime supply of artisanal cheese and the right to sit at the front of the town’s annual snail race. "Competition?" it hissed