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I'm writing a short story, and need to avoid excessive use of a subject. Using he, his, or the man will get very repetitive over time since the character has no name. I'm hoping to find some way to make a subject only need to be declared a few times per page. I don't mind breaking some rules of the English language to get the desired result; I just need to avoid confusing the reader.
A man sits alone on a bench, a peach in one hand, a spoon in the other. What an odd and wonderful day to be sitting on a bench, at least until it drizzles. He wipes off some fuzz; the peach fur is pleasant to feel, chemicals n'all.
At his feet lies a puddle with a mustache, bushy brows, and a peanut-sized nose. The peach reveals itself as wetter than a bad snog; his pants accept sponging duty. With swift realization, the man jumps, and swahpps his pants.
Leaving the peach held in his jaw, he reaches into his coat pocket for a hanky; all recollection of its' earlier activities seem to have stayed in his pocket. The expression on his face is that of man who has just done something incredibly daft, and realizes it. The peach is happily dripping across his chin; his pants still on active duty. A women walks past, and cringes in a very lol-cat like fashion.
As you can see in this little piece alone there are 14 instances, way too many.
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I've found a happy medium in referencing the name of the character, or in this case "the man", about every 3-4 uses of the pronoun, which ends up being about once a paragraph.
However, your writing tends to unexpectedly switch between third and first person and I don't quite feel like I'm understanding parts of your writing so I apologise if I get some parts wrong, but here is how I would rework it.
What an odd and wonderful day to be sitting on a bench, the man thinks, holding a peach in one hand and a spoon in the other. He wipes off some fuzz as it begins to drizzle and feels the fur of the peach, chemicals and all. At his feet lies a puddle reflecting a face with a moustache, bushy brows and a peanut sized nose.
Biting down on the peach, it reveals itself as wetter than a bad snog and his pants dutifully become a sponge for the juice. He jumps up in realisation of what has transpired and reaches into his coat pocket with the peach still held in his mouth. Out comes a handkerchief; its prior history going unnoticed as he lets out a sigh of frustration. All the while his pants are collecting more of the sweet juice from the peach, now dripping from his chin.
The man expresses a daft look as a woman walks past and cringes slightly at the sight of his clumsy situation.
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