The man inhales deeply on his cigarette and holds the cancer in as long as he can. He exhales slowly as if he is saying goodbye to a dear friend, and shakes his head.

“Yeah. Yeah I was like everyone else. Finding a genie in a bottle, pure fiction right?” he begins shakily.

“Until you find one and your wildest dream is within your grasp.” At this, he glances to the sky but looks down quickly. He balls his fists and when he talks, his voice is strained with anger.

“That son of a bitch made it sound so easy.” there are tears in his eyes now," Ever since I was a kid I wanted to fly. I wanted to soar around mountains and over oceans and be able to go anywhere I wanted." The man slams his fist on the table and looks at you, openly crying.

“Yeah, I can fly now. But what that bastard forgot to mention is that when he snapped his little fingers I became so afraid of heights that looking at stairs makes me queasy.”

“Fucking stairs, man.”

The man puts his head in his hands, and you awkwardly ask for the check.

View this story's 18 comments.