If he is wearing knives for eyes, if he has dressed for a Day of the Dead parade—three-piece skeleton suit, cummerbund of ribs—his pelvic girdle will look like a Halloween mask.
“The bones,” he’ll complain, make him itch. “Each ulna a tickle.” His mandible might tingle.
He cannot stop scratching, so suggest that he change, but not because he itches—do it for the scratching. Do it for the bones . . .