Squattu is still sleeping.
Easter Mornng is moving his legs in a rhythmical way.
His belly is heaving.
Ffttt! A rotten strawberry smell fills the carriage.
That's good, says Terence. You farted.
Wooz moo poo-em? moans Easter Morning.
I'm working on it, says Terence. I've already got the first line.
Soot, says Easter Morning.
A moth has died, says Terence.
Why is it not about him? asks Squattu.
I thought you were sleeping, says Terence.
It smells bad in this carriage, says Squattu. I woke up.
Poo-em, says Easter Morning.
Why does he call it a poo-em? asks Squattu.
He says everything oo-ey, says Terence. Because he's got the pink thing inside him.
Hasn't it come out yet? asks Squattu.
She looks quickly at Easter Morning's cloacal aperture.
Squee! Greyish pink goop's oozing out.
She points it out to Terence.
Gross! says Terence.
Easter Morning looks pained.
Relax, says Squattu. It'll all be out soon.
A mooth has dooed, says Easter Morning.
He likes it, says Terence. Okay, this is the next part.
a moth has died
don't be sad
it's not bad
it wasn't your fault
it was dad.
Those are good rhymes, says Squattu.
Thanks, says Terence.
I suppose the second verse will cheer him up about the future, says Squattu.
Foochoo, says Easter Morning.
What future? says Terence.
What's to come, says Squattu.
Terence thinks about what's to come, and a rhyme for it.
Yes!
soon the pink thing will come
out of your bum.......begins Terence.
And, as if Terence had the power of predicting the future, out it does come!
Ffttt! Blurt! Dribble-dribble..... followed by the bad strawberry aroma.
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