TE16 Turkish Delight

Jürek and Qan with mirrored glass windows. Stubborn, green despite all, rooted deep down to magma, or to Istanbul maybe. Surrounded with neat suits, where boulevards trembled notwith foot steps, but the metallic whiz od the trams. Living without the nervous crowd of the streets heused tocommutealongwith theconstant possibility of losing a limb, or the yellow taped blank spaces left behind by suspicious packages in metro stations he used to often get in and out. Maybe that’s the only reason for the gradual thinning of the thick rope that tied him to life. Body parts turning blue at end of the rope, due to the perfect order of traversing, trash out of sight, and trains on time. The stains of cigarette ends that he couldn’t throw on the ground and held on until he saw a trash can on his palms. He was told that he could see the sky in the tent he would be admittedaftercrossing theCaspian Sea. He thoughtabout itwhile he tried to sleep in his house on the dead silent street. Two years to be spent in a tent. There, he was going to let go everything he hungrily had, one by one. To love where he fed. He would form a scab fast. Be one of them, take long trips. On horseback. He was going to write to Istanbul weekly. Maybe he would fall for a woman, and father slant-eyed children. Stay there. They would change his name to a one-syllable. He wouldn’t resist to any of them. As he waited so in the city he was supposed to transfer from, for thepermit that didn’t come, everything hedreamed to forma scab over bled more. He was betraying his own projects. The extreme

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