Back in a world of lint and random grit, the fish indulged in a moment of frustration. Possibly, it reflected somewhat belatedly, the world wasn't quite as universally liquid as it had supposed or hoped. The range of possible dry abrasions seemed much, much wider that would seem convenient or even acceptable. The weird rhythmic locomotion of these weird dry-landers only exacerbated the problem as it continually scraped all manner of scratchy stuff against all the delicate structures that a fish needs most to live its life.

Also, oxygen was in disappointingly short supply. Related to the water shortage it no doubt was, and yet it was a special problem of its own. A creature comfortable in any orientation or posture in a normal, wet world could quickly become dizzy and disoriented as available air was consumed and byproducts accumulated. Any quick splash across gaping gills would help to ease the strain, but the rough cloth of the honest work clothes contained nothing of any help. Maybe a vague, teasing scent of wetness emanated up from the direction of the person's boots, but it was enough only to heighten the wish.

A door clicked and banged open, followed by an overwhelming air of WATER! The fish could see nothing nor detect any detail about the surroundings otherwise, but the smell was enough to drive the decision. It flipped with all its fading strength, bounced on a tiled curb of some kind, then flopped onto the floor. It wriggled and scooted and moved toward greater and greater wetness, finally sliding into the safety of a murky floor drain.