Stage seven of the Vuelta is over.
Wout van Aert has won.
Pablo sees he has missed a call from Arthur.
He calls Arthur.
Hey! says Arthur. How'd it go?
For me, up and down, says Pablo. I was doing well, until I wasn't.
That's racing, says Arthur.
Yes it is, says Pablo. But it's fun. We're having a poetry comp and I'm winning.
A bold claim, says Arthur.
The others are rubbish, says Pablo. That Ben O'Connor. And Primoz Roglic is worse.
Want to know why I called you? asks Arthur.
To wish me luck? says Pablo.
No, says Arthur. Remember Baby Pierre ?
Who could forget that little fucker, says Pablo, It's good he's not here.
He's on his way, says Arthur. Thought I'd give you a heads up.
Santa mierda! says Pablo.
And he's got a frog with him, says Arthur.
One of Gaius's? asks Pablo.
It is, says Arthur. A Kroombit tinker, endangered.
Means nothing to me, says Pablo.
Small, with brown side stripes, says Arthur. Rides fast. Says tink-tink when provoked..
Okay. And? says Pablo.
Look out for her, says Arthur. Gaius wants her back.
Sure, says Pablo. And how are you otherwise?
Good, says Arthur. I'm in Florence eating cakes at Gilli's.
Ah, my friend! says Pablo. You live the charmed life. I bet you didn't pay for those cakes.
I didn't, says Arthur.
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