Making of a Djinn: Fantasy

The tent reeled around him. He tried to stand up, but his legs faltered and he collapsed back down on the cushions. He stared at the musty canvas of the roof, visible only in pale glimpses unprotected by embroidered rugs, and tried to remember how this had happened to him. Who was he? He could no longer remember. Where did he come from? He thought for a moment that he saw the sea, a busy port town, but what was the sea? What was a port? The shining golden hookah on the table mocked him. There was no smoke coming out of it. He frowned. Wasn't there usually smoke coming out of it? He had to get out. He couldn't remember why, but he had to get out. What was out? The light that filtered through the canvas was out. He had to get to the light.

Inspiration: Well, that's kind of how I felt after my martial arts workout today. Except for the no memory part.
Story Potential: High. Really freakin' high.
Finished Length: Might be a short story, could be a novel--but come on! Two amnesiac main characters in a row? What is my subconscious trying to tell me?
Notes: It's not humor. It's the djinn myths, but not used in a humorous fashion. No trapping him in a bottle, either. No blue smoke. It's a foreigner who's stumbled into the Arabian nights...and boy does he wish he hadn't. If he remembered that he had. Maybe only temporary amnesia? Recurring, perhaps? Magic in the same way that zombies are magic, sort of. Could even be a magic-realism tinged more mainstream type of novel. Perhaps.