Ends In Disaster

They get off the bus in the city, and walk to the Central Bus station.

Terence was well behaved, remarks Gaius.

Pleased to hear it, says Kierkegaard. In what way?

Following my strict instructions not to talk to the crabs, says Gaius.

Not to talk to the crabs? says Kierkegaard. I'm afraid I failed in that regard.

You talked to our control crab? says Gaius. No matter. What did she say?

She is composing a poem, says Kierkegaard. An obituary. She is stuck on a fence at the moment.

There is no time for Gaius to ask what this means.

They are at the Bus Station.

It's five minutes to three.

The Link SA bus departs in five minutes, and Terence, who has run on ahead, is missing.

Not to worry, says Gaius. He'll be looking at the buses.

It's true. He is. Not everything ends in disaster.

I'm sitting at the FRONT! says Terence. Near the driver.

All right, says Gaius. I'll sit right behind you. Put your hand up if you want a snack. But try to wait for at least fifteen minutes.

Three o'clock. The bus pulls out of the Bus Station heading for Goolwa.

Kierkegaard has the three crabs in the salad bowls under his feet.

They are still in their foil-lined container. Neither Gaius nor Kierkegaard has checked them.

They could all have died.

No one will know until later.

It's like that famous experiment.

But Terence has the tall paper bag, containing Alexander-Red-Hook in the breakfast bowl, beside him.

And no strict instructions this time.

Going on holiday? asks the driver.

Yes and no, says Terence.

That's a good answer, says the driver.

I'm not allowed in the water, says Terence.

Bad luck, says the driver. Can't you swim?

How do I know? asks Terence. Can you tell me when it's fifteen minutes?

From when? asks the driver. Now or when we left the Bus Station?

When we left, says Terence. I'm allowed a snack then.

That your snack in the paper bag? asks the driver.

No, it's a crab, says Terence.

No way! says the driver.

Terence reaches into the tall paper bag to prove he's not lying.

His claw finger rips the cling wrap which Kierkegaard had tightened.

OOPS! says Terence, pulling the breakfast bowl out.

The driver sees that it IS a crab.  Terence wasn't lying.

Sorry mate, that goes on the floor, says the driver.

The floor. It's worst outcome for Alexander-Red-Hook, who had been hoping for poetic inspiration.