Once in a while, He won't call. For example, as the Fischer brothers gossip and spit tabacky, stropping their pink necks with their red hands and ignoring the foreign looking kind of fella who acts like He's wanting to ask directions.
Man, looky what's coming. Best thing to do with that is toss it out soon as it drops. It'd be a mercy, truth, and a nice treat for the pigs. Shoot, my sow's'd walk away from that; they got more sense 'n to eat a preacher.
Walking away, head down, sand drying under and between His toes, He figures He should have gone for it. Next time He really has to.
"Your name is Rocky, 'cause you're under the church." That's what He should've said. But He can picture their blank theatrical stares milking Him for embarrassment, as one of them prepares to answer, "Sure I am, Chief. Just don't call me late for supper."