They tried to shut down his mathematical operations through a gunshot aimed straight @ his noggin, but failed.
Father Time kept ticking ticked.
& he counted up so quickly that his would-be assassins collapsed in ol’ age before they knew what hit them.
But e’en such memory couldn’t see the assassin hid ‘hind him, aiming her gun not @ the hairy back o’ his head, but up @ the ribbon-shiny pavement-black top-hat resting ‘pon it.
She pulled the trigger, causing the hat to explode in mechanical shards all o’er the ground.
The rest o’ Father Time fell with them.