Sequential Events

All right, insert this, says Sartre. The artificial finger was broken.

Where? asks Simone.

It doesn't matter where, says Sartre. 

How about at the end of the second to last sentence? says Simone. 

I thought you were talking about the finger, says Sartre.

No, says Simone. The insertion.

As long as we understand one another, says Sartre. 

Go on, says Simone.

Once again I mounted my bicycle, (dictates Sartre), and cycled through the streets of Barcelona. My thoughts were of fingers. Then it came to me. Saints! Saints are famous for fingers. But of course, I did not want a preserved one. My young colleague would turn his nose up at a withered dead finger..

He pauses, to see how this goes down.

Very funny, says Simone.

What's funny? asks Terence.

He's saying that you wouldn't have wanted an old dead saint's finger, says Simone.

Maybe I would've, says Terence. 

Yes but it's what he was thinking, says Simone. Not what you're thinking. You don't even know.

Know what? asks Terence.

What he's thinking, says Simone.

I do, says Terence. He thinks I don't want one,

But you only just learned that, says Simone. And the readers still haven't.

Yikes! says Terence. 

It's due to the sequential nature of events, says Simone.

Have we finished? asks Sartre.

Go on, dear, says Simone.

Sartre continues:

On Carrer del Duc, I spotted a shop selling religious icons. I parked my bike and went in. There were many saints on display, all with fingers. I chose Saint Elias, whose left pointer finger pointed upwards. Easy to break off, I thought. It occurred to me that they might have a broken one in a skip out the back. I asked, but they claimed that they didn't. I could hardly argue. So once again, I was obliged to pay up. Twenty seven euros. But it came in a box.

You're making yourself sound like a cheapskate, says Simone.

But Sartre doesn't think that he is.