But Bluey's attention was no longer on Mark, but seemed to have been taken by the Playstation.

"That's a Playstation."

Mark went to turn it on and picked up the controller. Bluey gasped softly as Mark maneuvered over the icons of games he'd played recently.

"Have you ever seen video games before?"

"Of course, ye empty-headed fart. I invented modern video games. Some arse wished for this years ago, but blimey. Ye've really taken me idea and run with it." Bluey reached out as if to touch the screen, and was met with hard plastic. He jumped a bit.

"Whats that one then?"

He was pointing to the call of duty icon. "It's about war." "War for fun? Yer kind are so perverse." "Well I mostly play it for the zombies." "ZOMBIES for fun? You people are ALL daft! Those things are a blight on the world. But funny, in the right circumstance."

Mark struggled to think of an example of when conjuring a real life zombie would be funny. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Um, in this one you're a cat. In this one you're a goat. This one you can race cars."

He showed Bluey all his games then handed him a second controller. While they were speaking, Bluey had slowly and creakily directed his crotchety arse into the other blue beanbag to watch.

"Want to play?"

So they played racing games for a few hours. Bluey cackled with glee every time he raced ahead. He cursed and spat when he accidentally crashed his car. He oohd and ahhd and ridiculed some of the ways Mark had upgraded his vehicles. Bluey was weird, but Mark didn't have very many friends, and certainly hadn't played video games with anyone since before he'd moved out of his parents' house, years earlier.

"All right, well, I'll definitely be gettin one o these machines for me bottle." Bluey decided with a nod of his head and the unevenly approving squint of one bushybrowed eye towards the console, after hours had passed.

"It sure passes the time." Mark added, thinking of all the days and nights he'd buried himself in the games to escape the dread of his own life.

Bluey stretched and opened his mouth in a wide, straggle-toothed yawn. "Well thank you, my thick friend, for a touch of respite. But now, I do believe it's time to get down to business."

Bluey's angry conglomeration of vaguely European accent appeared to have evened out after hours of senseless racing. Now he seemed almost sad.

"Yer wishes, lad? And don't think ye'll be getting any special treatment for being feebleminded, or for the vidya games!" He cackled at himself again.

It would be pointless to correct him now. Mark sat silently for a moment, pondering. He'd made a long series of poor life choices which had led him to the rut he was in now. This evening with Bluey had been the longest time he'd been sober in months. He didn't actually trust his own decision making abilities. Not to mention the fact he had no idea what he wanted, besides not to live in gray emptiness of depression for the rest of his meager life. Rain began to beat on the window, rhythmically tapping out the seconds of silence stretching between them.

"What would you suggest, Bluey? What would you wish for?" Mark finally asked.

"A functional fucking brain for one!" He guffawed at his own joke, then, wiping tears from his eyes, took a serious tone. "No, yer the kindest dimwit I've ever met, to tell the truth. Praps people would be better off if they were all as dimwitted as you." He shook his head sadly. "Truth is, lad, nothing is free. A wish'll cost ye just as much as working for something will, the price just comes in a different form."

Bluey glanced towards the window.

"Most people just ask for what they want, the greedy bastards. Money, sex appeal. A lost love."

Bluey looked down at the plastic controller in his left hand and fiddled with the switches. Obviously there was something on his mind.

Softly, Mark prodded him.

"But you, Bluey? What do you wish for?"

He shrugged, and then he looked up at Mark, his eyes screwed up like he was trying not to cry.

"I can't wish for what I want. It's against the rules. Besides. I know what it would cost. I'm - it's - not worth that price."

Mark's heart broke for Bluey in that moment. What chain of events had led to Bluey being stuck in a bottle, a slave on demand for the rest of his life? What had he lost? What had he sacrificed?

The two sat in silence for a moment, Bluey sniffling in his beanbag chair and Mark reliving his own loss, his own choices.

Finally, Mark decided he'd had enough moping.

"All right, Bluey. I'm not a magical creature. I've got limits. But here's an offer. You've kept me company today, and for that I'm eternally grateful. So you get three wishes. Within reason, of course. I'll do everything I can to make them come true. And I'm a human. So, you know, it'll just cost money. Not your... soul. Or.. whatever." Mark lost momentum on the last remark, not really wanting to think about the prices Bluey had referred to.

Bluey was quiet.

"How bout another Dr. Pepper?"

Mark grinned and nodded.

"That I can do. You've got two more wishes."

Bluey laughed snottily and wiped his nose, a little sparkle returning to his eyes. He adjusted himself in the beanbag, thinking now.

"It's been a kick in the balls since I've had a nice homecooked meal."

The expression made Mark twitch, but he understood it to mean an agonizingly long moment.

"Well, I'm not much of a chef, but I can make that happen. And your last wish?"

"Ye know, I'd have killed in that bottle for some bhang."

"Bang? What?"

"Ye know. Chamba? Ganja?"

"Oh WEED? You want to smoke some weed?"

Bluey grinned and nodded energetically.

Mark couldn't help himself - he devolved into a fit of giggles that brought tears to his eyes. This ancient magical creature was asking him for pot. Maybe humans and genies weren't so different after all.

Bluey was laughing too.

"Aye, if that's what yer calling that good green herb these days!"

The two laughed together and then Mark stood confidently, feeling more full of purpose than he had in months. He pulled a shirt out of his closet and tossed it to the bare-chested Bluey.

"All right, Bluey. Get dressed. We're getting some groceries."