You can't cover your face. It's pixels on a screen producing droplets of sweat from faceless patrons paying fees to view their fantasies in you. This makes them entitled and determined to own a piece of you. "Make her hands smell like coins!" Soiled dollars touching young skin. Bills dripping with milk. Shutters click as she b***s her lip. "Please take my picture now. Don't look at me. Just let the camera peek. Replace what eyes would see. I have books to buy, tuition bills to pay. The camera's lens feels like a stranger's touch. This barter/exchange leaves a bulge in your pants. I need the money now, so don't judge me." It looks like you have things under control. Your legs spread. Your crotch splayed open like a coin purse waiting for the money shot. You can't cover your flesh; it doesn't belong to you. It's been traded like steaks over chopping blocks. Your face in pixels drips static s** for sale.