That gesture, that tightening of the hand, such a simple thing, simple but it reassures me.
Time marches on! What a ridiculous cliché. If I had a minute for every time I’ve heard it, I’d . . . well, don’t get me started.
A hole at the base of a crumbling T-wall was the only point of entry to the group’s hideaway. Inside they were like kids in a clubhouse. They felt safe there, the wash of incandescent lighting creating shadows from every angle. They could drink, smoke, play cards, and talk shit about everybody they worked with without fear of outsiders or superiors intruding . . .
To celebrate the release of Tehran at Twilight, we’re pleased to feature a statement from author Salar Abdoh on the psychology behind his new book.