“Write a story about me! But do me justice!” G. demanded one day.
G. thinks very high of himself therefore I wasn’t sure I could do him the kind of justice he expected. For instance, one day we were at Second Cup and, while reading La Republica, he decided all of a sudden that he is just like Plato. He said it out loud, so everybody at the café turned heads to see the reincarnation of the Greek philosopher in the Lebanese guy living in Toronto. Then G. asked me to stop disturbing him and continued reading. I also continued reading, thinking I would never be such a skilful writer to do him the justice he thinks he is entitled to.
Later on, I got mad at him and I stopped dating him. At that point, I really wanted to write a story about him. But I was afraid I…
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