Packets of seaweed on the counter. Weed smoke coils in the air. Drinks. A bunch of healthy boys. Graduate students. Young men we are. I’ve got music playing. Loud. Small studio apartment, not too well lit. My friend, the tall one, the chef for tonight, had promised sushi. “So we can actually make it ourselves?” Rice is steamed. Layers of it on the green sheets. How about another shot? Bitter. And it’s getting kind of hazy in here. The pink fish feels slippery and moist. Layers. More layers. Avocado green. Roll it up. “Hey, I can eat it just as is!” Like a sandwich. But it’s sushi. And we made it.
😁🤌🏻چقدر واقعیه همهچیز و آب دهانم هم جاری شد
ولی جدن خیلی تصویریه نوشته هات. شایدم من به همین خاطر خیلی ارتباط خوبی پیدا می کنم باهاش.
مجکرم از ارتباطت! 😄
😁😁😁