i’m here at white tern cafe in hulhumale with hasanfulhu and hasanbe’ – yes, i’m the jinni between these two hasans as people used to say back in the 90s. my mood is as crap as my day but sampaafulhu said good things about this place and she’s nothing if not a woman of taste.

‘why do you seem so out of it?’ asks hasanbe.

‘just let me be,’ i tell him. ‘and get the menu.’

i feel like something comforting like a creamy pasta even though white tern’s specialty is its asian fare. i don’t even bother to check what the other two order, but i ask for a carbonara.

‘so, samfa not giving it to you?’ asks hasanfulhu. there’s nothing more grating than this man, this pathetic excuse of a being trying to needle me with his stupid jabs. but i will bear this in silence.

‘the economy’s going to be shit soon. we should be tightening our belts,’ says hasanbe, clearly a man of the world.

‘husenfulhu’s belt is gonna burst open any moment now, right, my friend?’ says hasanfulhu.

he fat shames so shamelessly now, this idiot of a man, encouraged no doubt by moosaalhu. i haven’t met him in a while, i realise.

the server brings our orders and my carbonara looks excellent. i dig in.

‘hey, easy there buddy, we’re not in a contest,’ says hasanfulhu.

but my god. this beauty is not drowned in sauce. the sauce sticks to the spaghetti like a moussed up hairdo. and i can taste eggs, EGGS! meanwhile, the bits of bacon bring out pops of crispy umami flavour. my god. i am in LOVE.

but it’s over too soon. hasanfulhu pays for everyone, as well he should this lawyer of our very own wall st.

‘you really should be watching your weight and cholesterol,’ says hasanfulhu when we exit the restaurant. ‘you’re an old man now.’

‘yeah, that’s what’s going to be running thru my mind on my deathbed you nut,’ i tell him. ‘that i watched out for my cholesterol. no man, i’m going to think of all the good food i had dammit. and love every bit of it.’

hasanfulhu shakes his head while hasanbe lights a cigarette and blows out blue smoke into the night.