He was a rigid sculpture of a man.
It was a funny.
He was bulbous and flabby with latent homosexuality.
All his futures and philosophies manifested as a crude, orb-like nose.
It all feels like a big humour-funny-jaunt to him now.
It still feels like a funny.

Behind him there was a gleaming sun.
His eyes did not point in the right direction and were bulbous.
He had no fingers, only palms.
His eyes bulged and did not point in the right direction.
Horizontally, a star shone from behind him like a window into a grey and distant past.