(I drew it with a restaurant receipt pen. It's a bit sloppy.)
The Japanese used to stay in the office across from the bar. Don’t be fooled by the word "office." The back was full of rubble. There was a couch and an electric heater. It broke down all the time. We kept fixing it.
He was about 1.70 meters tall, with slanted eyes. That’s why we called him "the Japanese." I learned his real name much later, but let’s keep calling him "the Japanese." It was my first day at work. It was 11:30 in the morning. The bar’s door suddenly opened.
(The Japanese enters the bar, shirtless.)
Japanese: – Look, take a look!
Poyraz: – What is it, man?
Japanese: – How does it look?
Poyraz: – What?
Japanese: – My beard, my beard. I shaved it in the dark, fuck!
Poyraz: – Looks great, you’ve trimmed it neatly.
Japanese: – It works, right?
Poyraz: – Yeah, it works, it works.
At some point, he came back to the bar again. He asked if there was any cola. I poured it into a beer glass. He smiled and said, “In the old days… Would it be like this? By this time, I’d be fucked up.”
“I was treated at Amatem. I stayed for two and a half months. Normally, we were allowed to stay for one month. But I stayed for two and a half months. When people heard I stayed that long, they wanted to stay longer too. The doctor discharged me because others were getting hyped up hearing about my stay.”
Poyraz: – What did you do there?
Japanese: – We strung beads all day, fuck. We competed with each other.
I went to the psychiatrist again the other day.
The psychiatrist asked me, “If your life were to get back on track right now, what score would you give it out of ten?” I said, “Zero, fuck.” He didn’t even ask why.
Poyraz: – Why?
Japanese: – Man, I’m 45 years old. Even if my life gets on track now, what the fuck does it matter? He increased the dose and sent me on my way. I didn’t even take the meds, shit!
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