Chapter 2.
Aladdin fumbles for his keys as he reaches the door, sore
from the subway station rush, where all the air is the same air
that's gone through the lungs
of every dejected loser on the subway without a job.
And sure, maybe he'd hoped people would recognise his face so
he rode round twice,
but God he's gained weight, and his t-shirt says 'falafels half
price,'
It's not like even he can recognise the guy who stands full height at five
foot five
in the mirror on his bathroom wall. That's when he tries
to suck in his gut, find a compromise
between age and memory. But it's not enough to try.
He stops forcing his stomach into places it won't fit,
fishes his phone out his pocket, goes down to sit,
opens tinder
and keeps swiping right.