All That See Ya Implies

Terence hands the phone to Kierkegaard.

Hello, says Kierkegaard. How's the surfing?

Pretty good, says Sweezus. You should come.

Is Belle there? asks Kierkegaard.

Yeah, says Sweezus, And Arthur. And Philip Norgaard. And Belle's cousin, Marie.

There's nothing I'd like better, says Kierkegaard. But I'm helping Gaius with the crabs.

How long's that going to take? asks Sweezus.

Until the last one dies, says Kierkgaard.

Sheesh! says Sweezus. That's grim.

Not really, says Kierkegaard. There's not been a dull moment. And two have already expired.

From the microplastics? says Sweezus. Yeah, plastic's really bad. Arthur and me once had a business going, selling sea salt, in bags made of recycled plastic that washed up on the beach.

Enterprising, says Kierkegaard. And good for the planet.

Yeah, says Sweezus. But we ran out of sea salt.

Surely that's impossible, says Kierkegaard.

Unreliable supplier, says Sweezus. Anyway, I called to see how Terence is going.

He's being extremely helpful, says Kierkegaard. Even taking photos, as you no doubt heard.

Cool, says Sweezus. Send me the photos. I'd like to see them.

Certainly, says Kierkegaard. How do I do that?

Go to photos, says Sweezus. Then go to mail, then find me in contacts, select me, then select the photos and the size you want, attach them, and press send.

Fortunately Kierkegaard has a good memory for lists of instructions.

All right, says Kierkegaard.

And try and hurry up the experiment, says Sweezus.

That wouldn't be right, says Kierkegaard.

We're here for another week, says Sweezus. Then we all have to go home and earn money.

I'll see what I can do, without compromising scientific integrity, says Kierkegaard.

No worries, says Sweezus. See ya.

See ya, says Kierkegaard.

He feels elated, having used the vernacular.

See ya. And all it implies.