5. Last Night
تۈنۈگۈن كەچ
I fell into myself in the mirror at Kashkar Cafe’s tiny bathroom, painted a Soviet pink, like many blocks of flats in North Korea and Russia’s Far East. It was a stark, pale rose, dolling up a drab situation.
I felt as though I had been in the bathroom for an eternity. I was uncertain whether I was coming or going. Had I peed? Should I pee? In reality, I had only just arrived at Kashkar and was in the bathroom to wash my hands. Then I became transfixed by the size of my pores. My attention set on the pinkish hue of the whites of my eyes. I wondered if it was the w**d or the pink walls reflected on my eyeballs that had turned my eyes that colour. I lost myself in my eyes for what felt like minutes, but who’s to say how long it was? Time was taken by T.H.C.
I re
