we’re putting away scraps of roshi with mashuni at food male – that small, unpretentious cafe in the shell beans goalhi. their mashuni is beyond reproach, these guys have found an excellent ratio of tuna to huni and no flavour attempts to dominate the other. this is easily the best mashuni in north henveiru and it’ll only set you back by 50 bucks.

hasanfulhu goes at his meal with a singlemindedness that is almost frightening. his frantic chewing is clearly audible, and it makes me think of roshi turned to slush.

not appetising.

‘i’m guessing you like it?’ i ask.

‘what’s not to like?’ says hasanfulhu. he’s not a picky man when it comes to food. women are another matter. picking someone out of this glut is enough to send the man into paralysis.

‘you remind me of something,’ i say.

‘what? some kinda animal?’

i laugh.

‘you said it.’

‘let me tell you. we’re ALL animals milling about in this playground of desire, sucking and fucking our way to oblivion.’

‘speak for yourself,’ i say.

‘look, we’re the outcome of an animal history, and to deny that is to leave us unfinished. if we don’t come to terms with it we’ll have less than half-truths about ourselves.’

‘what are you raving about?’

‘i’m saying we need to embrace our instincts and surrender to the immanent.’

‘the what?’
‘the IMMANENT, retard.’

he finishes off his mashuni with a clean sweep of his roshi and chomps heavily, that primitive jaw clenching and slackening, machinelike, a flesh-robot from the future.

‘you think you’re better than me, husenfulhu? in your h&m shirt and sea sports shorts?’

‘wtf!’

‘you think you’re civilised?’ hasanfulhu sneers. ‘let me tell you. you’re gonna explode again. in an utterly unfettered display of vileness. you can only supress so much.’

‘shut the fuck up!’

‘sorry. i’ll get the bill’

‘maybe it’s time to see your therapist.’ i say.

‘i love therapy but i think it’s a colossal waste of time,’ says hasanfulhu.

‘what?’

‘i wasn’t contradicting myself. i just think therapy is a bunch of shit. cos it imposes patterns on something that’s not at all understood and i suspect totally chaotic.’

‘oh like YOUR thoughts don’t have patterns. they’re SO unique.’

‘nah, anybody’s thoughts really. these guys come up with an easy to swallow narrative for your motives and actions and you buy into it. and they’re always trying to ground you or make you be in the present with this mindfulness bullshit.’

‘it’s not bullshit.’

‘yeah, yeah.’

we go out of the cafe and enter masveringe park and take a seat in a joali. hasanfulhu begins to consume a heet.

‘why’re you still in therapy then?’ i ask.

‘cos like everyone else i enjoy having someone paying close attention when i talk about myself,’ he exhales a cloud of pungent smoke. ‘and i can afford it.’

i shake my head.

‘you don’t get any insight into yourself from them?’ i ask.

‘nothing. but sometimes i surprise myself. and that makes it worthwhile.’

a crow lands on the edge of the seawall, caws morosely, then flies up into the still july air, across a pale sun smothered by clouds.

‘none of it means anything,’ says hasanfulhu. ‘if you know what i mean.’