Hallucinatory realism

I bought the book Red Sorghum years ago, but never had the patience to finish it. Being at war and advised by the government to stay home, I restarted reading it. I still don't like it, although the author is a Nobel Prize winner. It is a collection of folk stories of the heroic fight of Shandong peasants against Japanese invaders and local bandits. In Argentina, only horses ate sorghum silage, but my wife feeds me boiled sorghum, believing that, being inedible, it must be healthy. The story focuses on a sorghum distillery, where the wine received its special shine and flavor thanks to added piss. I had never heard of red sorghum wine.

The Shabbat has arrived. I stop. My downstairs neighbors (echte Iranians) are praying-singing at full volume.