« It is this sense of impermenence about a place, expected one day to be swallowed up whole and disappear, that drives the inhabitants of Tehran, my Tehran, to-as we say in Persian-press hard on the gas petal. » —Salar Abdor, Tehran Noir
media_image
|
media_image
|
media_image
|
media_image
|
Every Sunday afternoon of summer 2014, I sat behind my computer and waited for my online class to begin at 4:30 pm. Living in Tehran, the capital of Iran, I was just done with a long busy day, for Sundays are... media_text
|
media_image
|
I sat on a big rock. We were hiking for about an hour. “My feet ache, I won’t walk another step.” My sister was only one year younger than me and she always climbed father’s shoulders, instead of walking.... media_text
|
media_image
|
media_image
|
media_image
|
TRANSLATION I write in a country where, only two decades ago, around 80 writers were murdered one after another and their mutilated bodies found in the suburbs. A few years later, the case was reopened and the... media_text
|
media_image
|