Rusty Stamps
The green-gray ground clouds dissipated enough to reveal Old Zennit sitting on his favorite chair, nibbling on a rusty stamp. Small piles of half-eaten rusty stamps had accumulated on both sides of him over the years.
“Mmm, I love me some rusty stamps!” he would say.
Everyone knew better than to try to send Zennit any letters through the mail. The mundane papery stamps they used, although endorsed by the post office, were extremely offensive to Zennit’s rusty sensibilities and rust-tuned sense of smell. One sniff of those plain old stamps would send him into anaphylactic shock and require intravenous rust injections to keep him going.
“Mmm, I love me some intravenous rust injections!” he’d sometimes say, though not all that often.