By Hedieh Mehdi Zadeh Kashani
“He picks the scabs to keep it fresh and shows it off at parties. His skin is disgusting. Look at my battle wound… Look at me hurt! It’s not from another person. He gave it to himself. Can I have a sip of your drink?”
“You shouldn’t have spent the night.”
“I only remember bits and pieces. I’d been drinking.”
“You let him pollute your body.”
“A sip?”
“Don’t waste words on him, nothing poetic.”
“Can I have a sip?”
“One hundred and one. No more, no less.”
“Please—just a sip?”
“No. I don’t want to catch it as well.”
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