Reality Has Collided

It's the next morning.

Kierkegaard emerges from Lauren's back room where he slept.

He is no longer wearing the skull shorts but another pair that Lauren has given him.

They belong to her son Bob, aka Surfing-with-Whales.

Orange, with tigers and panthers.

Before that they belonged to Sweezus, who lent them to Surfing-With-Whales after the incident with Nietzsche who, having borrowed them, returned them with an incriminating stain.

Lauren removed it (the stain) but Bob refused henceforth to wear them.

Nice shorts, says Arthur.

Lauren's washing the other ones, says Kierkegaard.

Did you empty your pockets? asks Arthur.

Of course he did. And Arthur knows that, because of what happened last night.

The shorts had passed across his line of vision, carried by someone. Arthur had followed that someone into the laundry. She was turning out the pockets. Nothing was there.

Yes, says Kierkegaard. I emptied out the pockets, to save my precious Regine from a soaking.

A picture of her? asks Arthur.

Yes. Would you like to see it? asks Kierkegaard.

Not really, says Arthur. I'd prefer to imagine her, dry and precious.

So would I , says Kierkegaard. But it's too late now. Reality has collided.

Sure, says Arthur. Are you going surfing this morning?

I'd love to, says Kierkegaard. But I have obligations.

Gaius asked me to take over the crabs for today, says Arthur.

Wonderful, says Kierkegaard, You agreed to?

Not exactly, says Arthur. They'll be on the beach. I can still go surfing.

Sweezus is up now, drinking Up-and-Go from a carton.

Gaius is checking on the crabs.

Marie, Belle and Terence have left early to buy potatoes.

Lauren appears with a load of wet washing, looking surprisingly cheerful.