mujahideen

F’s uncle, who underwent 7 hours of open heart surgery last week, has finally stabilized enough to leave ICU for a less-intensive care room, one with a roommate who has the tv volume pegged from sunup ‘til sundown.

an impatient, driven man even on his best days, nazir’s now decided he’s responsible for his healing, not his doctors; and he’s begun to roam the hallways with his IV drip, barking commands and interrogatives at the nurses. yesterday nazir, his drip, and his wife were cruising down the hall when he lost his balance. his wife reached out to steady him but he batted her away. leave me be! – he commanded – let me fall!

this is the man who told F that if he didn’t stop gambling, he’d still be living in his parents’ basement at age 50. “NO LIFE, NO WIFE, NO MONEY, BALD AND AGED and no one to blame but yourself, Assuming you don't kill yourself by then” he wrote to his nephew.

afghans are HARD, man. the soviets didn’t have a fucking prayer in that country.