You Think Too Much

The waiter has sprayed all the windows, and around the front door.

The only mosquitoes are dead ones.

Great! says Belle. Now the place smells of Fast Knockdown.

Rather spoiling the taste of the moules, says Jeanne Jugan. This is your doing, Maupi.

He was only trying to stop me being evicted, says Roo-kai.

Thank you, Roo-kai, says Pierre-Louis.

If you're not going to eat the rest of your moules....? says Roo-kai.

Go for it, says Pierre-Louis. 

Mine too, says Jeanne Jugan.

Belle looks at Arthur, who is scoffing his burger.

We could ask the waiter for a doggy bag, says Belle. 

What for? asks Arthur.

For the moules, says Belle. We're not going to eat them, but Roo-kai is.

Good idea, says Arthur.

Yes, but will you ask him? asks Belle. I think he likes you.

It's true that the waiter seemed to like Arthur.

Perhaps he too is a poet.

Arthur gets up and goes across to the waiter.

Hello? says the waiter. What is wrong for you now?

Nothing, says Arthur. My friends want a doggy bag.

What for? asks the waiter.

The moules, says Arthur. They can't finish them.

Doggies are not fond of moules, says the waiter.

They don't have a doggy, says Arthur. 

I knew it! says the waiter. The moules are for the oiseau, which is alive!

All right, says Arthur. But the good news is, when we get the doggy bag, were leaving.

There is the problem of the sauce, says the waiter. 

You can keep the sauce, says Arthur. 

But that involves a separation, says the waiter. Of the moules from the sauce.

You think too much, says Arthur.

I know, says the waiter. I suppose you don't.

I'm a poet, says Arthur. I think all the time.

I'm a poet also, says the waiter. I have written a poem about Jullouville. Would you like to hear it?

No thanks , says Arthur. Just give me a doggy bag. Or two would be better.

Okay, says the waiter. 

After five minutes he returns. with two doggy bags.

What took you so long? asks Arthur.

I have scribbled my poem on one of them, says the waiter. 

I'll read it, says Arthur. 

Before you put the moules in, says the waiter. Promise?

Sure, says Arthur.