Murat
@log_e_x
Issız yerlerde kendin için bir evren ol
Şu anda okuduğu kitaplar
Very few people get a chance to quantify how much their father loves them. But I did. The job should have taken forty-five minutes, but Dad spent three and a half hours on it. My father loves me 366 percent more than he loves anything else.
Good to know.
Hangi tür kitapları seviyorsun?
🔎 Polisiye
💕 Romantik
🚀 Bilim Kurgu
🏰 Fantastik
📖 Klasik
🧠 Kişisel Gelişim
🏛️ Tarih
😱 Gerilim
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.
One person had yet to arrive. I stared at the door, getting more and more nervous as the minutes ticked by. “What time is it?” I asked the room in general.
Lene checked her wristwatch. “Ten thirteen a.m….and there’s currently a half-Earth, by the way. It’s waxing.”
“Good to know,” I said.
Finally, the door opened and the last guest stepped in. He scanned the bar until his eyes landed on me.
I slid my beer glass away. I never drank in front of him.
“Hi, Mr. Bashara,” said Lene.
I woke up the next morning with cramped legs and a sore back. That’s the thing about crying yourself to sleep. When you wake up, the problems are still there.
I sobbed into my knees. Quietly. That’s another skill I learned back in the day: how to cry without making too much noise. Wouldn’t want anyone in the hall to hear me.