I have never been particularly fussy—a glass of tap water and a piece
of contemporary drama would be enough to nourish the body and soul
of my own creation. So, spoiled by all the words I read by the dim light
of streetlamps, I disregarded that seemingly fading shadow perched like
a crow on my windowsill since it was supposed to disappear eventually.
But instead, it brought Bucha and Izium. But instead, it brought Zahedan.
One could say that as long as death is in our blood, life remains nothing
but an aspiration.

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