A Matter of Angles

You demand why my neck looked five times longer. It is the angle of your lens. When you tilt downward from above, perspectives warp. My neck remains stout, sunken deep between my broad shoulders. To show this without bending, I marched directly to a low concrete barrier. Night had fallen over the pavers. I did not crane my head or look up. I stood tall, keeping my thick neck completely rigid and locked flush to my collarbone, short arms held tightly at my ribs. I pressed my heavy side directly against the smooth concrete face. Parallel and true. No distortion in the masonry. Stance held.