100-Word Flash Fiction: Reducing Community Illness by Thirty Percent

A man with painted cheeks ducks behind a clothesline curtain with feigned urgency.
Chuckling kids sit cross-legged in swept dirt.
Girls bounce siblings, pointing at the man as he emerges. Adjusting his waistband, he glances back and pinches his nose.
Laughter.
He wipes his hands on his shirt and steps in place, swinging his arms.
“Noooo,” the kids crescendo in Khmer. “Ewww…”
He scratches his head, pretending to be perplexed.
Shouting.
He points at a barefoot girl in a sarong and Betty Boop shirt.
“Use soap or ash to clean your hands,” she chants.