For sure, Tariq sounds shorter down a phone. He’s driving, shouting. Doesn’t remember Brian on first hellos, either. Stands to reason when you think of all those faces in the back; harder still owing to the wind through his windows. Brian, Brian’s upstairs with Tariq’s business card shaking in his hand. This new pastime of fear and panic, his red eyes rolling over his archives. His throat lumping out – Salaam aleikum. It clicks for Tariq the third time Brian says his name. Hang on. That guy outside the Cat Flap? Yeah, goes Brian. Quality mate! As if you found my digits, state you were in. How’s it going? Not bad, aye. And how’s that head? All right, yeah. On the bed, an overnight bag for the man who won’t often wash. A brown-bristled toothbrush for emergencies – like for when he pulls, ha, ha.
