Dale raised his glass. “Mr. Bashara.”
Dad gave him a cold stare. “Dale.”
“I forget,” said Dale, “do you hate me because I’m gay or because I’m Jewish?”
“I hate you because you broke my daughter’s heart.”
“Fair.” Dale polished off his beer.
Dad sat next to me.
“So a Muslim walks into a bar…” I said.
He didn’t laugh.
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