Tehran

Tehran is scum. All this congestion in a sweltering afternoon while a drop of sweat trickles down my forehead towards my mouth, that ragged man nearly falling into the gutter, or the other digging into that ground for trash to precipitate death, all those stinks of packed people in a train and the touch of them robbing you of your soul, all those people talking with the same language to you while can't understand eachother, all these frauds surrounding me, all these robbers of ideas, the disturbing sound of Azan which reminds me of the time of lie, all this nonesense, the cynisism, the suspicion and the pessimism of mine, the feeling of looking at hungery people and the feeling of touching old bricks thinking that they will one day take my life away gives me the feeling of nausea.
And I love nausea.