TE16 Turkish Delight

Letters to Shefkati and rubbed my hands with it – under the table. I warned myself about shaking it well at the toilet back in the printing house and washing it the minute I got home. I watched the street from the window. A tram plodded towards Beyazıt. Then a car. My meatballs were nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile I did see the boy coming right to the middle of the staircase, fix his glossy hair and walk back down again. According to my watch the half of my lunch break had already gone by. Finally, rarecookedmeatballsand beansalad swimming inonions arrived, without my mineral water. I forced myself to remain calm reminded the waiter. In the worst mood, I went on to eat my meal -almost raw meatballs. I was picking the beans from the salad, moving the onion slices apart. Although I did eat soak some bread into the small onion hill later, they weren’t that bad. I chugged the entire bottle of mineral water, as it almost came with the check. I paid, and tipped – don’t know why I did that – and left the restaurant. At the entrance, a gargantuan man, a painter was polishing the sign, brushes and cans of paint were blocking the way out to the sidewalk. I almost fell trying to make my way. Laughing out loud and crude as he looked, “That was a near miss old man,” said the painter from the top of his ladder. You see, this alone should’ve I waited anyway, my stomach growling.


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