Tiny letter-man ran wildly through the streets of the green little village; carrying crafty, crafty buttocks as quickly as he could. Up and down the streets - flew like a waiter ahead of a herd of elderly church women at a sumptuous buffet – dashing in, dashing out, racing to get the last scoop of corn casserole or perhaps the final buttered biscuit. Tiny letter-man raced even faster as the flood waters turn the same hue as village and faces seen in tidal pools.
“Hellish as all get out,” cried tiny letter-man as he raced. “Get out, get out, get out.” Triple-fast came the waters, triple fast came encroaching tidal pools. Triple fast came hellish faces in hellish swirls and eddies.
Final scream and final, final, sacred-final great ripping sound and heavens break open. Firmament did fracture and God in his heavens did weep for loss. Tiny letter-man stops dead in his tracks and reaches down deep into pocket of tiny letter-man pantaloons. Withdraws flower blossom-like hand and inspects the catch. Twenty-two cents and twenty-one pieces of pocket lint were all he had caught, but they were good pieces of pocket lint, every one of them. “The man on the corner told me he was coming quickly, and so in him I will trust,” said tiny letter-man, shaking lint from flower blossom-like hand. “He is coming quickly and so in him I will trust.”
“In him I will trust.”