we sit on the bench beneath the kuredhi tree at raalhugandu again, watching the surf – no surfers on this clouded, windy afternoon. moosaalhu and i are enjoying some takeout drinks from community coffee. the service there is especially laid back, and the price is hefty but the results aren’t bad. my thai iced tea could have been stronger though, but moosaalhu’s latte is being drunk without comment.

‘you know, tea and coffee have really taken over the world,’ i tell him. ‘it’s stuff that troubles your sleep, and yet it’s widely available. you go to fucking macdonald’s: BAM, coffee. a little hole in the wall takeaway BAM: bombay tea.’

‘big tea,’ he says grinning.

‘huh?’

‘like big pharma,’ explains moosaalhu in his patronising way.

‘right,’ i say. ‘all i’m saying is that it’s a drug and it’s just been assimilated into almost all societies. no mullah is calling tea haram.’

‘yeah,’ says moosaalhu, eyes on the surf. ‘the tea lobby is pretty powerful in these parts. considering our neighbours.’

it’s how he jokes, there’s no subtlety in his irony.

i sip the last drops from my thai iced tea. it’s probably worth 10 bucks but i paid 70.

‘you know, to people of the future we’d seem pretty barbaric,’ i tell moosaalhu.

‘yeah?’ he says. ‘i agree, but what do you mean?’

‘like, we buy so much we don’t need and we keep a lot of stuff we don’t even want, and generally we live pretty wasteful lives,’ i say.

‘hmm,’ moosaalhu nods. ‘i think it’s disgusting, a person having a billion dollars. what is that?’

‘you wouldn’t say that if YOU had a billion,’ i tell him.

‘i don’t want a billion. what good is it?’

‘you can buy stuff, a yacht, a mansion. some hoes,’ i say.

‘yeah, stuff i don’t need. what’s the point?’ he asks. ‘the best things aren’t for sale.’

‘you believe that?’ i ask.

‘def.’

‘yeah, i think in the future we can pretty much manufacture what we need by ourselves.’

‘we’d have the means of production?’

‘totally.’

‘the socialist dream will be realised then,’ says moosaalhu.

‘no, i’m serious. like even today, right now, i own my means of production.’

‘that’s cos you work on a computer,’ says moosaalhu dismissively.

‘but that IS my means of production,’ i tell him. ‘and there’s a bunch of us out there.’

‘hmm,’ says moosaalhu. i think he has seen my point. we continue to observe the angry december waves, deemed unsurfable by the surf community.

‘you know,’ i begin. ‘don’t you find it funny how we only experience a 3D world but have conceptualised several dimensions?’

‘is it strange?’

‘it’s like where does that come from, those moments of intuition?’

‘the imagination,’ says moosaalhu. ‘we have a talent for thinking up things, even things that doesn’t exist in the world.’

‘yeah but isn’t it weird how we have that capacity to go beyond our ordinary experience? don’t you think it’s strange?’

‘so because we experience only in 3D we should not be able to think of other dimensions?’

‘yeah. exactly. but somehow, these intuitions and ideas and concepts pop into existence. it’s like we’re tuned into something. the universe is trying to explain itself through us, to us.’

‘interesting,’ says moosaalhu and sips his coffee.

‘you know,’ i begin. ‘you and i, man, we can talk about all kinds of stuff. it’s crazy the amount of stuff we know and talk about. like we should have a podcast. i bet people would find it interesting. we’ll sell it to baiskoafu.’

moosaalhu laughs.

‘you’re a real nut,’ he says. but fondly i think, and i narrowly avoid stepping on the tail of the one-eyed black raalhugandu cat.