"We're out of milk" King sobbed in to the floor, praying (to Whoever) God hadn't listened when he'd suggested shag carpet in the kitchen earlier that year. There'd been disagreements all round over tile colours but at this moment he rejoiced in apricot. God took the hint, grunted, and left.
He walked to the end of the block, made himself as small as he knew how and wished he knew who to pray to.
"If this is my world...if we created this-
then I have no one to blame."

King pictured himself running down the street to God, scooping him in to his arms and kissing him tenderly on the mouth.
"There is no blame. There is no regret. I have loved every moment."
He fetched the mop from the tiny cupboard in the bathroom and cleaned up his mess.