Mads: A Night in Tunisia

I was hanging out with my Boston friend, as I usually do, and we found ourselves trading traveling stories, and all the shit we've gotten into.

"What about that time," he said, "when you almost got killed by those Arabs in Tunisia?"

Wow, what about that night?

I had taken a walk, leaving my friend behind at the hotel. I got a little lost, and crouched down on the curb to smoke a cigarette. Then a swarthy looking fellow approached me. I tried getting rid of him, but he followed me around, as I became even more confused on what part of the city I was in. He took me into a cafe, filled with more swarthy Arab types, and mentioned a woman I should get with, his whore, who wouldn't cost too much money.

Matty the Mainer, who was with my Boston friend and I as we were re-telling these tales, interrupted me.

"This never happened to you."

"Are you calling me a liar?" I said.

"Sure. Let me guess the rest of the story. You're left alone in a tent in some remote area with the woman, and you find her trying to expropriate your wallet. Am I right so far?"

I nodded, a tad incredulous.

"So you secure your wallet, push her away, and she screams, alerting the Arab guys in the tent next door. Now you're in it; you run as fast as you can, barely escaping with your life."

"So you've heard the story, what're you getting at?"

"It's not your story."

"The hell it ain't."

"The hell it is. It's from Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky. You're a moron."

I was nonplussed.

"So next you're going to tell me I don't exist," I said.

"Well, if the shoe fits..."