“None of us remains young forever,” Singh said wearily. “Eventually everyone must let go of that final illusion.”

Illusion?

“What illusion?”

“The illusion that we matter.”

Marlon slammed his fist into the seat.

“Cut it out, Singh! I’m in no mood for this rubbish!”

“Don’t worry Marlon you’re not alone,” Singh laughed. “It’s the same with me. Nothing of mine still works either!”

“Mmm.”

“At the relatively young age of sixty-four I’ve already had to admit that this is no longer my world.”

“But…”

Let him go, Marlon.

Just remember… you are not like him.

You are still a player!

With a decent chunk of Viagra – you can still fuck for days!

But even as Marlon’s central nervous system screamed at him to protest against Singh’s attempt to write him off as…

A spent force?

An impotent old man?

A dud?

He was incapable of manufacturing the energy required to do it.

For the first time in his life, he just couldn’t be bothered.

The heat, the surging mass of people… just the thought of the effort it would require to do it drained the last dregs of resistance out of him. With a sigh, a deep groan, and a mandatory expletive, he had to admit – it’s over.

“Marlon…”

The gentle hand – the claw of death – was clinging to him again.

“We are going back to the airport. I’ve taken the liberty of booking you a return flight to New York.”

That’s why we never seem to be getting anywhere.

Singh’s had them driving us around in circles.

“Hold on,” Marlon said, exasperated. “I’ve only just arrived!”

“I know.”

“I can at least stay a few days!”

If only to try again with that good looking one… what was her name?

Show her that you really can do it.