He sat on the fence post every Sunday, preaching even when no one was nearby.
She watched him through a rear window. A grimace embraced her face followed by a somber head-shake.
He swiveled his head from side to side, stared at the window, thought he saw a face, tilted his head back, as if his words might carry farther with an upward arch.
She approached, her face menacing, vicious.
He wagged his finger, spewed more vitriol.
She offered her own finger, told him to not return or else.
He slithered off his perch never to be seen again.
