Worth Puppies

Perhaps four clerical spheres on my nose was overkill. I looked a fool.
"You look lacking," said a patient observer.
I swung my pained expression around to his and he swallowed nervously. Four fat flowers swayed in the breeze behind us.
"I know," I said aloud, arching my eyebrows to create an even more pained expression and allowing a stream of gunk to flow down from my left nostril.
"Would you like the key to my tissue factory?" asked the man sympathetically.
"I would," I said. "Thank you."

Being somewhat out of range of my mother's sleeves, I was forced to resort to messily wiping my nose on the right shoulder of my T-shirt, which was soon caked in a thin layer of mucus reminiscent of a snail trail and glinting controversially in the daylight. But despite this, I succeeded in arriving at the steel marble doors of the tissue factory and even managed to fulfill the key's potential. Inside I found box upon box of low to medium quality temporary sneeze sheets, an exposed wall of which I dived into nose first and relieved myself.

"Bless you," came a voice to the south.
I turned to face its maker.
"Thanks," I said.
"But why don't you just come out with it?" it asked.
"Come out with what?"
"Your meeting with the fingers you'll eventually ring."
"Because someone keeps trying to half-obscure it."

Yes, I found me some fingers.