HIS LIPS BURST OUTWARD. His nose widened, flattened. Nostrils flared. Eyebrows joined above glassy eyes. The thick neck disappeared into wide shoulders. Then he reached for the water pipes above him, hands spreading to clutch invisible vines. He thrust from his shoulders, snapped from his wrists, and catapulted himself across the room That, a panting anthropology professor Ken Korey told his biological anthropology class, is how a gibbon swings.
Gibbon a lecture: Ken Korey