REORIENT:
I stepped out of the piss-stained elevator, my hands burning in the pockets of my blue jeans. Beneath my beery breath, I was whistling a piano melody that had been swirling and sparkling about in my mind for days. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was around; all I could see from behind the blurred window of the apartment door was a ragtag band of children kicking around a ball in the side-street outside. I tried to remember the words to a bit of the song that Kaveh had been singing minutes earlier, to the sound of cracking pistachio shells, but couldn’t. He knew all the words to those Persian love songs, that Kaveh. Far away from home, on the sticky streets of the city, he’d often put his arm around my neck and sing some ditty or other, while I’d try to stifle a massive grin. Ah, autumn! We wondered then about the mess we’d gotten ourselves into, but knew, somehow, that everything would be alright; for there was always the local boozer to slip into, spill the beans, and pour our hearts out, and always the voice of Kourosh.
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