Nietzsche Without His Moustache

Adelaide.

Arthur and Sprocket wait for Sweezus in Romeo's café.

Sweezus arrives with a man who looks like Nietzsche, without the moustache.

Yo bro! says Sweezus. How was Western Australia?

Long, says Arthur. Swampy. Spider-riven.

Told you, says Sweezus.

This is Sprocket, says Arthur. Our team hopeful.

Yeah, well, says Sweezus, I haven't looked at his video yet. Been too busy with this guy.

Remember me? asks Nietzsche.

I remember you, says Arthur. Surfing. You were good at it.

Bit cold for that now, says Sprocket, looking out at the wintry landscape. Spiky branches, white sky, cracked dead leaves.

Yeah, says Sweezus. We'll soon be in Brussels. It's hot there.

Sprocket looks at Nietzsche, who without his moustache still looks manly.

You in the team? asks Sprocket.

I'm riding with Team Philosophe, says Nietzsche. As a super-domestique.

Vello's idea, says Sweezus. So, let's take a look at this video.

He takes out his phone. Searches. Finds the video.

Coffee? asks Nietzsche.

He goes off to the counter.

Sprocket watches Sweezus's face.

What's this bit? asks Sweezus.

Date balls, says Sprocket. It's arty at the beginning.

And this bit?

Rabbit gnocchi.

Now we're cooking! says Sweezus. Ziplining through a forest. That you?

Yep, says Sprocket.

Gold toenails?

Had to lose them, admits Sprocket.

Nice one! says Sweezus. That the spider? Looks good in the lamplight. New species?

Might be, says Arthur. Could be Chinese.

No kidding! says Sweezus.

Nietzsche returns with a number sixteen which he plonks on the table.

At last Sweezus gets to the part where Sprocket rides down the sandy bike track at night pursued by Shu with sharp sticks.

Did you speed this up? asks Sweezus.

No, says Sprocket. It was a fold up bicycle, too.

Cool, says Sweezus. You're now in Team Condor.

You have simpler requirements than Vello, observes Nietzsche. I had to ride through many hoops before being selected.

You're an old dude, says Sweezus. What are you, forty eight or something?

Geez! says Sprocket.

Nietzsche sucks his teeth and waits for his espresso.

The higher we soar the smaller we seem to those who can't fly, thinks Nietzsche.