"They're a buncha cocks," said Muzammil.
"They're decent guys," said Jehangir. "They'll give you anything. If all they have to give you is a fuckin' Bic pen, they'll fork it over. But they're a little rough to deal with sometimes-"
"Hatemongers, Jehangir. Fuckin' bigots. If they had their way I'd be tossed from a minaret." Jehangir paused for a moment.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, Muzammil. They hate you. And they hate me too. They hate all of us for something. Me for the beer in my hand, you for the cock in your mouth, Rabeya for having her clitoris intact. We're all going something haram. Look at us. We're the ones that have always been fuckin' excluded, ostracized, afraid to be ourselves around our fuckin' brothers. They don't build masjids for us. We have to get our own. A fuckin' fag mosque in Toronto, you know I'm all for it. Female imams, God bless 'em. Whatever. You know I don't give a shit. But let's not play that bullshit game where once we get our own scene we can push people to the sidelines, to the fuckin' fringe like they did us. Do you only want a community so you can make someone else feel like the Outsider?" His voice gradually raised. "Fuck that, he said sharply. "Fuck being as small as they are. I say be big. Be bigger. Kill 'em with kindness. How the fuck are they going to hate you when you love them?"
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