The team assembled at the chosen Adventure Caffè. The Wabbit was first to arrive and he hummed and hawed and complained about the lateness of others. But suddenly everyone bustled around him, laughing. The Wabbit leaned towards Lapinette. "Hello Lap, won't ya take a pew?" Lapinette pirouetted. "What no drinks?" The Wabbit tapped the table. "On their way, they is on their way." Skratch meowed loudly. "Here I am!" Wabsworth sat down and looked at the Wabbit. "What was that for a sort of Adventure we weren't in?" Skratch wasn't about to give up his special position as the analyser of stories. "It was an eco-adventure mobilising an adventurous speculative discourse." Wabsworth nodded. I completely agree. "It's positioning as a part of contemporary ecological concerns rooted it decisively in historical process." Skratch purred. "Have you been reading my letters to the trade press concerning the postmodern assassins of theory?" "Yes," admitted Wabsworth, "I saw a round robin citing you as a prejudiced dinosaur." "Excellent," growled Skratch. His claws extended and retracted. Lapinette joined in. "Don't you think it's quite disgraceful?" The Wabbit shook his head. "I do but, like postmodernism, disgrace takes us nowhere in understanding the hidden mechanisms of suture." With her paws in the air, Lapinette pirouetted again. "We will therefore continue to hold the line for theory." The Wabbit turned and yelled to a waiter, "But not without a drink!"
