The psoriasis commercial catches me midtrip to the can. I hear as I hold myself about my moderate-to-severe disease, how “nothing is everything,” and what the healthy body wears in public that I shouldn’t, that I wouldn’t dress in, but now, I think I’d like to stroll the produce section, goose- fleshed with patches, flaunting fat folds bikinied while writing haiku about banana spots. I’d want you all—and I’d want everyone— to spot the clouded leopard stalking your aisles, free from his cage, and ready to run.