Nesfe Jahan, pt 69

One more experience to add to the pile. I got sick here right after eating the infamous fesenjoon. With the hilarious consequence of having walnut pieces stuck in my orifices, and the less funny consequence of being stuck here for another couple of days. Nothing serious though. A lot of time spend looking at a pile of memories. Wondering what to do with enough pictures to wallpaper a decent size apartment. Enough words to make Joyce look up. It’s depressing, really. Maybe my brain is simply protesting, it prefers to be lean and mean. But there’s no stopping it. A bar playing blues, with a silver haired sexagenarian greeting every young female customer to a free introduction to intellectualism. It’s a famous place, by virtue of it being the only one. Fifty meters further, the twirling of batons by forgetful men. They left their uniform at home. The unintended comedy of google translated poetry. Somewhere down the line, baladam. Amo alon na.