Good

And who will ger rid of this squashed fly? asks Simone.

It is already got rid of, says Sartre.

Not completely, says Simone. It is smeared on this newspaper. How can we serve coffee and cakes to our guest while it remains on the table?

Doesn't bother me, says Sweeus.

You are sweet, says Simone, but one of us shall move it.

She looks at Jean Paul.

I'll make the coffee, says Jean Paul.

I knew you would choose that, says Simone.

Sartre gets out of his armchair and heads for the kitchen.

Simone sits down in his chair.

She picks up the newspaper, avoiding the parts of dead fly.

And how are you, mon cheri? asks Simone.

Good, says Sweezus.

And le petit Terence? she asks, tearing round the piece of newspaper on which is the fly.

Yeah, Terence, he's good, says Sweezus.

Growing up, I imagine, says Simone.

Not in size, says Sweezus, but he's kind of maturing.

How wonderful! says Simone. Give me an example.

Errm... yeah well... he's on his way to Barcelona, says Sweezus.

Alone? asks Simone, twisting the torn piece of newspaper.

With Arthur, says Sweezus. 

Dear Arthur, says Simone. How is he?

Good, says Sweezus. 

And what do they plan to do in Barcelona? asks Simone.

You don't want to know, says Sweezus.

I certainly do, says Simone.

They're going to rescue a Sylvanian bear from the Sagrada Familia, says Sweezus.

I see, says Simone. Where is this bear exactly?

The Virgin's got it, says Sweezus. 

Simone smoothes out the ends of the twisted newspaper, so it looks like a butterfly.

It's impossible to see the dead fly in the middle.

Sartre comes in with some cakes on a plate, and returns to the kitchen for the coffee.

Simone takes her butterfly to the window. 

Opens the window and drops it outside.

Reality In Action

Arthur props his bike in a bike space near the door of the train

He should have paid ten euros for this bike space, but he hasn't.

Nor has he paid for a ticket.

Look for two empty seats, says Arthur.

I'm looking, says Terence.

Wait till the train moves, says Arthur.

Okay, says Terence.

Why can't we just sit down? asks Prong.

Because we'll be seat hopping, says Arthur.

The train starts to move forward.

There are a few empty seats, but no two are together.

You sit here, says Arthur. And I'll be three seats down. Watch out for my signal.

What signal? asks Prong.

Arthur holds his hand up and crooks a finger.

What does it mean, the signal? asks Prong.

It means hop now, says Terence.

Got it, says Prong.

Terence sits down. 

Prong perches on his knee.

Pretend to be a toy, says Terence.

How? asks Prong.

Stare, says Terence.

Prong stares, but it's risky. 

What if she misses the signal?

....

Meanwhile back in Paris.

You were pretty nimble, says Sweezus. I mean with the fly.

The fly is in parts on the newspaper with which it was killed.

Detached legs, mashed body parts, brown liquid smearings.

There is no reality except in action, says Sartre.

Tell that to the fly, says Sweezus.. 

My statement refers to human action, says Sartre. 

Yeah, I get that, says Sweezus. You still ride a bike?

Now and then, says Sartre. How about you?

Did you watch the Tour de France on TV? asks Sweezus. I was in it.

Oh were you? asks Sartre. I was mainly interested in the efforts of Team Philosophe.

They did okay this year, says Sweezus. 

I ask myself how they keep going, says Sartre.

Guess they like the attention, says Sweezus.

Hmm, says Sartre. Perhaps I should try something to gain more attention.

Don't you get much attention? asks Sweezus.

My wife gets more attention than I do, says Sartre.

A key jangles. The front door opens. In comes a woman.

It's Simone de Beauvoir.

Bonjour mes petits!, says Simone. 

Hey, Simone, says Sweezus. 

How lovely to see you! says Simone. Has Jean Paul offered you cakes and coffee? Non, I thought not. Il est très paresseux!

Look here, Beaver, says Jean Paul. I have just killed a fly.

Simone de Beauvoir stares at the squashed fly with distaste.