It's Called An Entanglement

Terence gets down from his seat again.

Where are you going? asks the bus driver.

To get my snack, says Terence.

Leave the crab on the floor, says the driver.

I am, says Terence.

He goes round to the seat behind him and taps Gaius on the leg.

Gaius starts. He was miles away reading an article in Cosmos.

It seems the universe is expanding at two different rates.

It's called the Hubble tension.

Gaius returns to earth. What is it?

Snack time, says Terence. You said fifteen minutes.

It's less than fifteen minutes, says Gaius.

It's more, says Terence.

Well, here is an apple, says Gaius. Don't drop the core when you've finished.

Yay! says Terence. A whole apple!

 How is Alexander-Red-Hook? asks Gaius.

She's making a poem, says Terence. The second verse is a hard one. But I helped her.

Really? says Gaius. How so?

She wanted a word that rhymed with fence, says Terence. So I said a fence sieve.

Offensive? says Gaius. That isn't a rhyme, but an entanglement.

Gaius is so pleased with his comment that he twists in his seat and half rises.

Listen to this, Kierkegaard, says Gaius. What is it when instead of a rhyme you incorporate the word you wish to find a rhyme for inside another word, for example, fence and offensive?

I don't know, says Kierkegaard who has been pondering the enigma of Schroedinger's cat, as it applies to three crabs in the foil lined container.

An entanglement, says Gaius. Clever, isn't it. I just came up with it.

YOU didn't. I came up with it, says Terence.

Not the entanglement, says Gaius.

Terence bites into his apple.

Alexander-Red-Hook is writing a poem, says Gaius.

I know, says Kierkegaard. I promised to write it out for her when it's done.

It appears to be about fencing, says Gaius. A funny topic.

No, it was more.... begins Kierkegaard.

But he is interrupted by the sounds of Terence choking.

C-hah c-hah chrr-hah c-hah-hah...hurrrrr, c-hah

He should not have been given an apple.