A man, who has never stopped growing, peers down between broken joints maintained as taught fishing line beneath tectonic skin and blood water. Legs look of graphed statistics, culminating data as harsh, jagged lines. Each step deliberate, but instantly spontaneous as weight disperses unevenly, like fluctuating gravity and a game of pick-up sticks. Arms carry back, plowing the ground, raising asphalt and dirt. The weight drives his body to crescent backwards; a well fed man still shows ribs and bone. Organs, shown through shadow on smooth white skin, move just as they would, only warped to contour the Everlasting Man. Wrinkles built up through the years compile his entire form and rain over him as if melted skin. Stature dwarfing the tallest man; shadows all, but covers none. He is not clothed, he stands naked. Skin stains just as easily as cloth; leaves traces of routine. Poor poor man relives coffee thrown encounters when brown splotched face is looking back in mirrored view. They do not run, they stand defiant despite the elongated man’s  passive drift. Thin, paper flesh. All went with no response. 

Wind could loosen teeth up here.