دانلود رمان انگلیسی “پرتگاه”

It’s 2:35 in the morning and, for some reason that he is utterly unable to fathom, Joe is still awake. I’ll be in bed by eleven, he told himself early that day. And he was, watching an hour-long video on YouTube where a celebrity chef cooks potatoes forty-seven different ways. Then, he had to quickly check Instagram before he closed his eyes, just to make sure no-one had messaged him (it helps to ignore the fact that no-one ever messages him), and two hours later found himself lost at the end of a collection of increasingly banal reels algorithmically focused around cooking, weightlifting, and parenthood. He stopped going to the gym a year ago. He isn’t a dad, even if he finds the reels oddly comforting. At least he still cooks. Or, well, he tries to. Which reminds him that the lamb korma he started marinating eight days ago has been in there too long now and will have to be thrown out before he can actually cook it. Fuck. Deliberately, with a conscious movement of force, he plugs in his phone and puts it face down on his bedside table. Enough. Time for sleep. Just quickly, he reaches over for his laptop on the other side to check if anyone liked his Twitter post from earlier today. It would always be Twitter in his head, regardless of whatever a billionaire fuckwit wanted to change it to. In fact, he’d deleted the app from his phone in protest and so he wasn’t constantly checking it. On his computer screen, there are two likes from people he doesn’t know and a reply from a bot telling him to invest in Bitcoin. He closes his laptop too.