Prismatic Skinkabode squashes the ends of his binoculars into his face. The eye socket region specifically. His subconscious forcing of the tubes closer to his eyes happens because he is gazing appreciatively at the lizards on the bricked veranda outside.
Tubes recessing into his skull.
Prismatic Skinkabode sets his eyes deeply into his own head.
The eyes are deep set, pushed into the skull.
The pastime of a leerer. Prismatic Skinkabode watches the lizards on his porch with a keen eye, recording numbers of individuals whilst also trying to drive up population morale. Resplendent in a bathrobe, dripping wet feet slapping the orange-red bricks. It is time to run laps.
Lap one: 10:23am, 19 individuals.
Lap two: 12:01pm, 13 individuals.
Lap three: 13:34 pm, 12 individuals.
Lap four: 16:00, 14 individuals.
(The above is an excerpt of scientific recordings/measurements. Do not use this information in the publication of or for any academic capacity/output. If you do you will receive a strongly worded cease and desist letter. NON-NEGOTIABLE).
While Prismatic Skinkabode runs laps, his neighbour pops his head over the wall. One mister Rhomboid Goatcabin. Rhomboid has been leading a double life. He is acutely jealous of the meaning Prismatic Skinkabode has found in his own life, recording the population numbers of lizards around the house.
Prismatic Skinkabode and Rhomboid Goatcabin are those neighbours that pretend to like each other, but they don’t really mean it.