The man's form, naked and obese, resembled a great mass of animated dough as he moved haltingly through the woods behind the trailer park on Nason Street. He was ghostly white against the dark greens of late summer. His tapered ankles and feet seemed surprisingly dainty beneath his great bulk which rippled and shook with each footfall. A wild mop of brown hair, greying at the temples, was plastered sweatily to his brow, and his labored breathing came ragged and short as he moved uphill through the woods. It had rained recently and he took care as he went to avoid shaking any overhanging branches which might shower him with raindrops. His tender feet were likewise placed with care. Everything about his progress was slow and deliberate. He stopped briefly near a fallen tree to get his wind. In his left hand he carried a bird's nest. His right hand was pressed against the small of his back as pregnant women do. I called out to him, and for a brief moment he stared at me wide-eyed like a creature of the forest before crashing back downhill the way he had come. I pursued him and soon found him fallen and wriggling on the ground like an enormous grub. He had evidently fallen on top of the bird's nest, which he studied intently as he regained his feet. Its delicate construction had been damaged beyond all repair beneath his stumbling mass. A single leaf clung to the sweaty skin on his heaving chest.
"This is your fault," he said to me as he held up the nest as proof for my inspection.
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