I've got it, says Sweezus. The parrot must do something bad in the future.
It's not a parrot, says Ortega y Gasset.
It's already done something bad, says the baby.
What? says Sweezus.
An impersonation, says the baby. Come on, let's go.
Sweezus looks up at the Holy Family. Saint Joseph with his nails and his hammer, looming over the Virgin, being gulled by a pigeon.
Where to? says Sweezus.
The shops, says the baby.
Not the shops! says George Santayana. We have a lunch date.
So we do, says Ortega y Gasset. It's almost twelve thirty.
Sweezus looks at his watch.
Where did the time go?
He has already picked up the baby.
Goodbye palace, says the baby.
It's not a palace, says George Santayana.
It's my palace, says the baby. Look at the spokes.
George rolls his eyes.
He's a baby , says Sweezus. He thinks they're spokes. Like he thinks a pigeon's a parrot.
I never had any children, says George Santayana.
You still don't, says the baby.
He snuggles up to Sweezus.
Hey! says Sweezus. Cut that out.
Shops, says the baby.
Lunch, says George Santayana.
Come on, says Sweezus to the baby. You always liked lunch.
Ha! Gotcha. The baby has always liked lunch.
But after, says the baby. I want to get board shorts like you wear. With tigers.
These are big person shorts, says Sweezus.
How come he knows how to speak to a baby?
Orange and black tigers, says the baby.
We'll see.
Meanwhile they are walking to the place where they have arranged to meet David, Vello and Schopenhauer, and Maria Goyri.
Bar-Cafe Bicicleta. It's not far away.
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