Nothing Is

Kierkegaard is changing his trousers.

Ageless is sulking.

Gaius is looking for six individual containers.

He has found four round ones which once contained olives.

At least they have lids.

It's not ideal, mutters Gaius.

Nothing is, says Ageless.

Two of the sand crabs will have to go into breakfast bowls, says Gaius.

So much for experimental integrity, says Ageless.

I can manage without that, says Gaius.

Ha ha! laughs Ageless. Hear that, you crabbies?

We're no longer to be referred to as crabbies, says an Alexander.

What then? snorts Ageless. You're all named Alexander.

Good point, says Gaius. That may well compromise the experiment. We must find a solution.

Numbers, says Ageless.

We're not having numbers, says a second Alexander. Numbers suggest inequality.

Letters? suggests Gaius.

Ditto letters, says a third Alexander.

May I make a suggestion? asks Kobo.

Go ahead, says a fourth Alexander.

Your names in individual fonts, says Kobo.

Beloved! says Ageless. What do clams know of individual fonts?

More than you think Ageless, says Kobo. For example, Red Hook, Yellowsun.

Times Roman, says Gaius.

So old fashioned, says Kobo.

I'm old fashioned, says the second Alexander. How would we do it?

I would inscribe your name on your back in Times Roman, says Gaius. From then on, you could be distinguished from others in your cohort. In other words, we would know it was you.

Wait up, says the second Alexander. Would it be permanent?

You dickhead! says Ageless. An enforced diet of microplastics causing premature death will be permanent,

I didn't say I minded, says the second Alexander.

The other five Alexanders applaud by clicking their claws together: click-clack-go-times-roman!!! .

Kierkegaard emerges from Gaius's room in dry shorts.