Maybe some dissertation abandoned on a shelf somewhere.

I’m the oldest and the wittiest and the gossip in New York city is insidious

me: why am I in such a good mood this morning?

my brain: It was probably that wholesome Human Interaction the day before.

me: Ah fuck, I guess I've gotta do more of that shit.

It's called "personal hygiene" as though we might get confused and hygiene all over a total stranger.