Dreams Of Floating

The shark pupils chase the dolphins. Woo-hoo.

They catch them. Yerk. Dolphin parts everywhere.

The Great White Teacher takes advantage of the ensuing carnage and swims after Sweezus, who has tumbled gracefully off his surfboard into the shallows.

A quick word, says the Great White Teacher.

Sure, says Sweezus. What's up?

A little sideline of mine, says the Great White Teacher. Sea Salt. I believe they use it in cafés.

Yeah, they do, says Sweezus, who recently noticed a jar of Sea Salt in a café next to the Organic Pepper.

I don't suppose, says the Great White Teacher, you'd be interested in taking this further? I can't do my own marketing, but I do feel it has potential.

Needs a good jar and label, says Sweezus. In that plastic bag, it could be anything.

That would be your job, says the Great White Teacher. Fifty fifty?

Sixty forty, says Sweezus. There's heaps of salt in the sea.

And plastic bags, says the Great White Teacher.

Arthur comes up, dripping sea water.

Catch you later, says the Great White Teacher, before swimming off.

What's that white stuff? asks Arthur, only to be disappointed.

As they stand in the shallows, two birds fly over.

One is Saint Roley.

He drops down beside the two surfers.

Grandpa Marx drops down too.

Grandpa Marx sees the packet of Sea Salt.

So, the Great White Teacher is up to his capitalist ways again.

But Saint Roley speaks first.

Why are you two procrastinating? Gaius is stranded. For all he knows Margaret has been murdered.

But she hasn't, adds Grandpa Marx. And he needs to get to Newcastle pronto.

Pronto, says Sweezus. How come?

Saint Roley explains the research which has resulted in a seventy percent improvement in the survival rate of threatened amphibians, as he understands it.

Arthur looks into the future.

Sweezus looks too.

Newcastle. That's near some pretty good beaches.

Okay, says Sweezus. Whereabouts is he?

......

Gaius is where he has been for too long.

He is not used to being so static while others buzz about him. How long has he been on this cursed and bad smelling beach picking up strands of filamentous green algae? This all comes of not having a bicycle. He will hire one in Newcastle.

He says so to the Growling Grass Frog.

The Growling Grass Frog's dreams of floating in slightly salty water at the university are augmented by side dreams of riding a bicycle though autumnal parklands teeming with a wide range of insects.

Vroom. Rurr.

A car stops at the side of the Princes Highway, two doors slam, and footsteps crunch closer.