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 fingers.

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.