[Editor's note: work in progress, not sure where - if anywhere - it's going.]

"A 'genie' genie?" I asked. Air-quotes accompanied my question and confused look.

"Quite right. Three wishes, no more, no less. And no malarkey!"

"Only if that's a two-way street, genie. How about this, I won't ask for infinite wishes - or infinite lamps! - and you don't twist my wishes around."

The genie was visible concerned: his hands were rubbing each other, like he was nervously washing up but forgot the soap.

I looked down at the old barnacle-covered vessel that I'd just moments ago pulled from the ocean. The hook was embedded deep in some crevasse, the line looped around a few times and caught on itself. I raised the lamp, rocked it from side to side. Water dribbled out of a dozen random spots.