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bhistoryones,iuyallothebookstorenearincardboardboxes.

idid.

“thatshenrykissinger.”

ifillhisglassatthebarandu.butihadlikehinotatall.

atonepointbabapoiosoone.“ar,doyouseethatnsittingupthereenaroundhi

“oh,”isaid.ididntknoighthaveasked.butatthent,ichedhhorrorasohechapandazfelloffh

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thatyfathersaloofness,ihersbooks.thatandhassan,ofurse.ireadeverything,ru,hfez,saadi,viarkting.ythersbooksnotthe

ofurse,rryingapoetendidntreadpoetryandgodforbidtheyshouldeverenrealboysplayedsothenstrueafghanistandidnthavetvsyet.hesignedupforsoepassionin.butiyo,albledaboutthefieldonseyaroverheadfrantiopen”thereieabundaoapassionatespea,uldntiifakediforaslongaspossible.iselftothebleakfactthathissoherplayorer.

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inss.”thefarsiteaapoendyouroppohadsixtysendstoreplyeletterthatendedyours.everyonein,beisfaussookoered,“good.”

here,theantthingstoattendtothandrinkihirstyagain.”