Before you can worry too much about your current predicament, a call comes through on the work phone that you and Kadir leave in the taxi. Your new self seems to take over -- you know this is important."Kolay gelsin, hi, how are you," you say, blending Turkish into English fluently. "Hope you are ready, yavrum, it's busy today," Melek says. You notice that word in there, yavrum, darling. She works at dispatch, she is nice, but she is so obsessed with marriage. Kadir often says not to pay her any mind, as there are plenty of women and men who know how to enjoy themselves without getting marriage involved -- you tend to agree with your brother, like always. Melek gives you an address, telling you that you must be there in 10 minutes. "Allah allah! 10 minutes? You all ask too much of me and my brother sometimes." But even as you say this, you know you can't pass up the fare, and climb into the taxi, already sweating nervously. Your old self is upset by your new form, the middle-aged heavyset hairball pervert you seem to have become, "Goodbye, Melek." "İyi yolculuklar, good trip," Melek says hurriedly, clearly already distracted by the next fare.
As you drive, swerving around slow cars, you wonder if maybe this is a preferable outcome. Before, you were a balding 23 year old with oversized arms. Now, at least, you look like a human that could exist. Your arms are still disproportionate, but only in the sense that someone might assume you only do arm exercises. And with the flab and body hair, you're a bit of a muscle bear. Several of Asil's memories (YOUR memories) confirm this identity, the remembered visuals of screaming chub chasers and college boys exploring the beginnings of daddy fetishes moaning underneath you. Usually while Kadir fucked their friend or filmed for your later enjoyment. Sometimes, watching back the tapes, it was hard to remember which of you was pounding tight ass or pussy when you watched them back, but did it really matter? You feel blessed that your brother is able to enjoy himself as much as you do.
As you pull up to the curb, you see your fare waiting. It's an older Caucasian man with a horseshoe of white hair and cherry red lips, wearing an expensive looking suit. He reminds you of your father -- your former father, not the squat, imposing turkish man whose round, virile body brought you and Kadir into the world. He climbs into the cab, talking on a phone. "He's finally here, never mind," he says, hanging up. "You're late," the old man says maliciously, a sneer on his face. You check the car clock, it only took you 11 minutes to get here, surely a record considering the distance. You flip on the timer, asking him where he'd like to go. "Christ, they didn't tell you? The real estate firm on Fifth Street, and step on it."
The man's attitude is awful, tendrils of negative energy seeming to come off him in thick waves. You're honestly not even surprised when he starts with the racist remarks. "Can you even read English? The turn is there, THERE!!!" "God, you people stink, no wonder you're all being pushed out by Uber." "I said to drive fast, not like a maniac. It's probably goes in Afghanistan or wherever but we have laws this country!" And so on, and so on. You're growing to hate his pinched little face and broom-like moustache, but most of all the beady little eyes that stare at you with malice.
"Now let's see if you didn't lose me that sale, you stupid hairball," he says, throwing a 20 dollar bill at you as he jumps out at his fare. You look at the meter, which reads 20.75 -- he's actually shorted you, but you're too out-of shape and out of patience to chase after him for 3 quarters. The whole experience puts you in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
When you get home and tell Kadir what happened, he shakes his head sadly. "Gerçek bir sikik," your brother says, "and fucked in the head." You nod in agreement. Sadly, this is a common reality for Asil and Kadir. Even your old self, buried inside, is angry. "I want to get revenge," you say. "After all, we have power now." You gesture to your identical rings, gleaming on your pudgy, hairy fists. "Anything for you, Asil," says Kadir. "What shall we do?"