Ardi stared into the small glass. “Tu u qi kurvat me djem,” he whispered. Not at anyone. Just at everything. The phrase hung in the smoky air like a curse and a prayer wrapped together.
Hysni nodded slowly. “I know that feeling,” he said. “When every hand that should help you is trying to pick your pocket. When the boys act like whores for a little power. You say those words… but then what?” tu u qi kurvat me djem
“Ti je i zemeruar,” Hysni said. ( “You’re angry.” ) Ardi stared into the small glass
He walked up three flights of stairs to Genti’s apartment and knocked. No answer. He went to Lul’s. The door was ajar. Inside, Lul was on the phone, laughing. “Po, po, e lajmë atë budallain…” (“Yes, yes, we’ll clean that idiot out…”) Just at everything
Ardi didn’t say a word. He just turned, walked down to the corner bar, and ordered a raki. The bartender, an old man named Hysni, wiped the counter and sighed.
A worn-down neighborhood on the edge of a city that forgot its name. Rusted swings, flickering streetlights, and walls layered with old posters and newer graffiti.