Fri, 15 Aug 2008
I’m sleeping on a cot in someone’s garage. It’s late morning or early afternoon. A girl comes in, fully dressed, she says, “Looks comfortable, mind if I join you?” and tumbles into the sleeping bag with me. We’re fooling around a little and the next thing I know the girl is naked. At this point the outside door opens and a bunch of people, presumably residents of the house, come marching through the garage and into the house proper. They’re not paying any attention to us, but the girl curls up beside me, out of sight, and I pretend to be asleep.
A few moments pass, we’re alone again, and then Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad emerges from the house into the garage. My eyes are open so he knows I’m awake. He acknowledges me with a nod, then I guess he can tell by the lumpiness of the sleeping bag, or by some of the girl’s black hair that’s showing, that I’m not alone. He approaches. “Are you with someone? Who are you with?” he says. “No-one,” I reply. He reaches down to pull aside the flap of the sleeping bag and expose the girl, but I stick a finger in his face and shout, “Fuck off, Mahmoud!” He’s surprised, he staggers backward and bumps into a deep freeze in the corner. His expression is so sad and hurt that I actually feel guilty about shouting at him. “Look,” I say, “you’re a guest, and out there you can poke around wherever you want, but this is my bedroom, so you have to respect my privacy.” Cowed, he nods and quickly exits via the outside door. The girl pops her head out of the sleeping bag and we resume fooling around.