While The Sands O' Life Shall Run

It's late, or very early, depending.

There will be no buses.

I'll call an Uber, says Robbie.

The Uber comes quickly.

Hop in, says Angas, the driver.

Is it a'right if we bring six wee crabbies in a bucket? asks Robbie.

Is there a lid on the bucket? asks Angus.

Noo, ye'll need to drive slow, says Robbie.

Gaius, Kierkegaard and Robbie get in, followed stiffly by Ageless.

A lobster? says Angus. Well done!

The passengers decide to ignore this remark which seems to make an assumption.

Angus heads for the city.

Rain pours down heavily. He turns on his wipers.

It is only now that he notices the rakes.

Can't see a thing out the back with those rakes there, says Angus.

Apologies, says Gaius. If you stop, I'll put them in the boot.

Angus jerks to a halt, and flicks the car boot open.

Gaius gets out with the rakes.

Rain drips from his head to his neck and trickles down his back, in a runnel.

He throws the rakes into the boot, bangs it shut and gets back in the Uber.

Drop me in the city will ye?, says Robbie. I mun get back to ma plinth.

What about your paper? asks Gaius.

I'll pick it up later, says Robbie. When there's nae more eggs in't.

For we must remember that the sixth Alexander dropped viable eggs, and Gaius wrapped them in paper.

Of course Gaius did not get out of the Uber to put the rakes in the boot without first giving Kierkegaard the paper.

Kierkegaard has little interest in the viable eggs, but much curiosity regarding the paper.

Might there be poetry on it?

He unwraps the eggs and smooths out the paper.

Most of  the words are illegible, due to egg smears.

But verse four is clear:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun,
And I will love thee still my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

He greatly admires verse four. He reads it aloud.

The crabbies in the bucket are sentimentally weeping.

The bucket soon fills with salt water.