Parallel Saints

By now they have drunk a lot of funky artisanal French wine.

The Sea Salt is spread all over the table in parallel lines.

Observe the parallel universes, says Vello. In mine, I'd be a clown.

You're a clown in this one, observes David. In a parallel universe you might be a philosopher.

Very funny, says Vello. I'm thinking of going back to Ferney. Want to come with me?

Whatever for? asks David. Last time we went there your chateau had been opened to the public. We had to sneak up the back stairs to get into your bedroom.

I want to do something about my statue, says Vello. I'm portrayed in a frock coat and stockings, leaning on a cane. It's hardly the image of me of nowadays.

Sweezus risks putting his oar in.

Yeah, says Sweezus. A racing bike would be cooler. Let me design it. Anyone got a pencil?

Of course no one has.

Sweezus spreads out a paper towel and dips his finger in sea soup.

This will take some time, the paper keeps tearing.

Arthur throws Sea Salt on the paper. Salt might dry it up.

Pablo is not watching. He is making moon eyes at Belle.

She is in her own parallel universe, cuddling a baby.

Not his baby.

David pours more wine.

Gaius and Humboldt are the soberest. They are discussing how they might travel to Weipa.

Arthur will arrange it, says Gaius He's good at such things. He can do it before he goes off with Sweezus and Pablo. By the way Arthur, where are you going?

Urm... Spain, says Arthur.

Really, says Gaius. Perhaps you could take Terence with you.

No, we can't, says Sweezus, looking up sharply and ripping (once again) his paper.

Pity, says Vello. It was coming along nicely. I suppose it doesn't have to be green?

Nah, says Sweezus. That's just the medium.

Terence looks at the medium, in which Vello is green.

Under the table Saint Roley is patiently picking the leg hairs out of Belle's shoes.

He stacks them neatly near Gaius's feet, assuming Gaius won't kick them.

He has been following the conversation.

If there's a parallel universe, it may well be near here.

Perhaps, thinks Saint Roley, under a parallel table, in this very Clown Bar, another Saint Roley is picking leg hairs from another woman's shoe.

He inches his way out from under the table, and heads for the next one.

He squeezes under the parallel table.

Hello brother! says a parallel Saint Roley.