I watch Belly going into the toilet. This is my chance. In my pocket are my brown, leather driving gloves, like the ones in Drive. I asked Ryan Gosling’s agent to send me his own, but he refused. So I got an imitation pair from Topshop. Viscose.
The sun is setting and the stars are coming out of the sky. Pakistan never looked so beautiful. I give it to the count of 50. Then I get up and ask to be excused.
I walk deliberately to the toilet. Just before I get in I put on my leather driving gloves. Belly is there at the urinal. He is wearing a purple sarong, flip flops and a muscle vest. I am wearing a purple sarong, flip flops and a vest. This must end. Now.
I walk up behind Belly and reach my arms to his neck. I ponder the situation for a second or two. Just as I am about to squeeze, he notices me and turns around. He continues to piss. He’s pissing all over me.
“O God. Finally.”
He moves my arms around him in an embrace and clutches me to him.
“I suspected it. But I never knew for certain. God, Kevin you fool. Why didn’t you tell me before.”
“No. No Belly. This isn’t…”
He tries to kiss me, but I back away. As I am moving back I slip on something liquid. I fall. Belly is still advancing on me. I scramble along the toilet floor. He’s still moving to me. I manage to burst out of the door. The boys look around. I am covered in liquid putrefaction. My sarong is a deeper shade of purple.
There is a gurgling noise from inside the toilet. I do not want to look. I get up and walk grimly out of the restaurant and up to my room. The night is over.