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BASHIR BINLADEN

WE WERE TOGETHER every single minute, Aïdid an me. Us two, we more than partners, we true brothers same ball same goal. Aïdid said he gonna find me a pretty AK-47 for present, day I get married. You bet! there no weapon shortage, he swore like that down on one knee, his eyes shining strong like me when I'm high. By the Good Lord who salted the sea you gotta believe me, Aïdid added. OK, don't go all upset, I believe you, I said. Now, life hard, real shameful even. We out of the game cause we got no more uniform, no more Kalash to panic people on the street, no more food to gobble. Gotta hustle well-well now an later. So we go to Ethiopian girls' bars, where French military they go drink beer an grope ass of nayas.* We say hi to everybody. We go see French soldiers; say something in their ear. After that, we stand attention front of French military cars. When French soldiers leave for bed or go to more bars to drink some more, us, we pick up the change. If they don't pay, watch out, danger of death for their tires, right? Job-there, it specially weekend cause French or German soldiers (those guys, little greenhorns don't really know the rules how you get along), they don't go out every night. No, they too scared cause of Gulf War, Iraq War, Somalia War, an terriblific bomb attacks. Terrorists, they no good for morale an no good for business, Moussa he told me that too.

Moussa he was taxi driver before always making travel. So weekends are good-good for hustle cause goverment got no money. Goverment employees, they been waiting for salary fourteen months. Now, it serious economic crisis, believe me faithfully. When you ask for money, the other guy always answer the same sentence like parrot too-too old: inshallah tomorrow, the Good Lord who salted the sea will not forget us, his children. So now, I get real mad. I do my boss number an I yell: you fat motherfucka, gimme the money right away. An then, Aïdid he come up behind like fast fullback of Real Madrid Roberto Carlos an he bazook the other guy's head. Can't waste bullet cause we got no more khakis an we don't eat army chow no more. Club on the other guy's head, that's enough. After, we go pick up the change an girls not too ugly. We smoke, we drill the girls' asses, we smoke, we drill the girls' asses, like that till the sun rise over Stinksea (that, neighborhood of wild tough-guys like us shiftas* or the kapos, kefkefs, pimps, an the other guys). Every morning the sea carries in corpses fat as Hindi cows (that I know for sure cause of Hindi movies in Al Hilal movie house). OK, none of my business. Those dead guys not always wild hoods, see. They even important genlemen in suit-an-tie: teacher, doctor, union guy an all. Secret police, they suicide a lot-lot, an then they throw corpses into our neighborhood. That way City say yes gotta kill all the hoods or lock em up like the asshole general who screwed up coup. Life like that, one day you pick up money, next day you lose your life. There even babies who scream for two hours an then they quick-quick gone (they called shafeec, in other words they went back inside mama's belly). His mama left behind like bundle of dirty laundry; she cries a lot-lot. Life like that.

Yesterday we pitched our tent on Stinksea beach, true, tent a little dirty, but the not-ugly girls who smoke with Aïdid an me, they love it. An then, the other wild hoods an the shiftas, they know right away we still military without fear an pity like Janaleh, the dry lawman (that his nickname) who comes to drink beer with us. Janaleh he laughing all the time cause in his pocket-there he got a big stock of pink pills (Excedrin, melatonin, Valium, Vicodin…label say that). Janaleh real wild. Everything he don't sell, it for him. Life always like that. Some people laugh; others cry like mamas without babies. Others nervous like a khat-grazer with no khat.