The Dakhla Diaries (2) : Making Friends

Men, men, men, everywhere, nothing but men.
Dark and tanned, short and tall, toned and plump, mostly moustached.
We bond over caffeine and cigarettes, talking endlessly, telling stories, and making sense of a senseless world. Justifying the unjustifiable and debating the local cosmology.
My prick, he argues, is subject to my moods, my whims, and nothing else, NOTHING else.
His opponent attacks: Be wary of pig, it faggotises your prick.
People, I finally say, surely you can be tied to a Jinni, who turns your dick to a weenie.
And on your wedding night, the night of your coronation, instead of Salaheddin you become an embarrassment. Ironic.

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