(1)

- I sold the house
+ Ah! Why?
- The doctor said I should stay away from Tehran, the smoke, the smoke, the noise, the stress. I have had seven or eight operations on my brain, nerves, spinal cord, shoulder and back in the last three or four years, but it has not healed. The doctor said change your place of residence, go somewhere far away, away from everything and everyone, I found a nice house somewhere around Bumhan, the same price as this house, I sold this house and bought that house. You should also think of a place for yourself, I have to hand over this house to the top of the tower.
+ May that shameless Saddam be buried, who did this to my father, my hero, my legend, damn war and the war monger. Now you wanted to sell the house, why didn't you tell me! Why didn't you consult me! Why didn't you tell me sooner! I have been living in this eighty-meter-long four-walled house next to you for forty years, unhealthy. I was your son for twenty-seven years and I was your tenant with your wife and children for thirteen years. I made you wet and dry, I was at your table, you were at my table, among all your children, I was the only one you saw 3-4 times a day, we talked and listened, we went and came, it was not right for me to be like this and suddenly in this poverty and trouble that has taken hold of me, the property and the government, I have become a homeless and a scoundrel.
- You are no longer a child, you are a man for yourself. You have two children and a respectable job and a suitable social status. It is time for you to pursue your own life and independence.
+ Okay, okay. I hope you are doing well and your life is on track, I am happy too. My God is great too.
- Sit down, I will pour you some tea
+There is no tea, but pour it

(2)

My colleague Masoud and I are going to the market to get some fittings and connections for exhibition frames. I park the motorcycle on the Pamenar road and walk towards Golubandak. After preparing the supplies, Masoud invites me to have a hearty lunch at a dirty, dilapidated restaurant in the winding back alleys of Marvi—your place is empty—and we eat a hearty meal of fresh, fried salmon with rice and a bowl of broad beans. After eating, we leave the restaurant, but we forget the route to Pamnar and where we parked the motorbike. In front of the restaurant, a man of about 45 was busy manipulating the handlebars of his motorbike. His sunburned, sooty hands and face, his waist bag, and his crashed motorbike were shouting that he was a motorbike courier or a delivery man.
Masoud asks him:
Sir, sir, which alley leads to Pamnar?
After a moment’s hesitation and a deep look at my feet, the motorbike man turns to Masoud and says:
This friend of yours is one of the old boys of Pamnar himself, how could he not know these places!
Then, as he pointed at me with his hand, he continued:
I pulled him out of the rubble myself during the missile baron, the missile that hit the Pamnar neighborhood. You filmed us! You forgot!
Masoud looked at me, I looked at Masoud.
The motorcycle man had found me so serious and believable and was happy to see me again that I didn’t feel like telling him, “Uncle, you made a mistake. I was born and raised in Tir Doglu. Ever since the missile baron, the missile that hit Tayyib Street and failed to work, I’ve been under the rubble ever since. No one has been able to pull me out of the rubble. From the holes and crevices that I still see under the rubble, only dirt falls on my head.

(3)

I don’t know if it was a dream! It was a fantasy! What it was! But whatever it was, it was the connecting link between these disjointed paragraphs.
I was walking aimlessly through the city of Mecca. I was passing through the roads and byways until I reached the Grand Mosque. I passed by the crowd and the Kaaba indifferently. It was as if there was nothing attractive in that space for me. At that moment, I was surprised at myself! I caught myself in my sleep and reviewed it in my mind, I who had always dreamed of arriving here! I who had always wanted to spend the night by this house! I who had always been waiting to reach the door of this house and wait until the owner of the house came out, then I could sing romantic poems to him, caress him, hug him, comb his hair, take a selfie with him hand in hand and post it on Instagram. What happened that it happened like this! But I passed by, I passed by easily. Because he was the only one and he had a big and luxurious house and the four of us were left homeless. As I walked along the streets, I suddenly heard a voice. Someone was praying. The prayer of a man who had no hands. In a voice that was very heartbreaking. Words that captivated me, poems I had not heard, praises that were unfamiliar to me, a funeral that brought tears to my eyes. I set off in search of the sound. I could not see who it was or where it was. After that, I walked the streets in search of the sound. I followed the sound for so long that I reached my bed conscious. As I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind busy reviewing and analyzing like a sleepy mute, I vowed that if I ever owned a house, I would hold a ceremony every year for a man who had no hand in it, and before sleep would overtake me, I would go back under the blanket.

(4)

To protect my reputation, I am writing a letter to one of the country's executive directors regarding my problem through an intermediary:
Dear Mr. So-and-so
Respected Fisar Management
Peace be upon you
I am Majid Parastash, son of Mohammad with national number **********, forty years old, born in Tehran, father of two children aged 13 and 9. I am currently living as a caretaker in a house near Khorasan Square and am required to vacate and hand over my residence by the end of May. Following the introduction and contact of Mr. Dr. So-and-so and the charity of a group of friends and benefactors, a step has been taken to secure the initial source of funds for my housing. Considering that my father is a veteran of the imposed war and has migrated from Tehran to Bamahan due to spinal cord injuries and complications from chemical contamination - on the advice of his treating doctor - and needs care, it is in my best interest to live near him. Please help me, my humble requester, to settle in the new city of Pardis so that I can enjoy the facilities of Mehr Housing in that area.
Sincerely: Majid Parastash
19/1/97

Until mid-May, I have been following the letter every day, collecting signatures and instructions from a hundred managers and officials until the day of the result finally arrives. I personally take a copy of the letter to the addressee of the initials and recommendations. Your Excellency is not present, he has gone to Kermanshah to oversee the affairs of the earthquake victims. The letter automatically reaches the office of the lady in the administrative sheds of Mehr Housing in Pardis, and she initials that the capacity for allocating Mehr Housing in Pardis is full and there is no possibility of allocating or registering.
Just like that, all my hopes are dashed. My knees are weak. A mountain of pain and suffering falls on my head. I lie helpless and numb on the benches of the hall for a few minutes. My ears hear nothing, nor do my eyes see anything. Only hundreds of thoughts and fantasies in my brain collapse one after another and fall on my head. It's as if I'm destroyed in an instant, I'm leveled to the ground.
After a few minutes, I leave the hall, start my stuttering Pride, and head for the nearest mountain and valley. I need solitude, a secluded and cozy place, a place far from all humans, a place where I can scream, a place where I can be with the wind, a place where I can be with the dirt, a place where I can be with the water. Ah... water... I really want a shrine... The shrine of a tall man who fell from a horse... The shrine of a general who fell helpless and hopeless by the stream.
In the blink of an eye, I reach a secluded and cozy valley. Beyond an unmarked village and behind nameless mountains. A large, lush valley, full of almond trees. A lost paradise with a flowing spring in every corner. I land by the large pond, get out of the car, put my head under the water, and scream with all my might, as tiny black fish swim to the other side of the pond, point to me with their fins, and say to each other with pursed lips: "You fool, you fool." I express all my complaints with water. I pour all my wishes into the water, I recite all my prayers for the water, and I pull my now light head out of the water. I have not yet breathed a sigh of relief when I see a tall man in a cap with no hair underneath. He introduces himself with a language that is half-ruined and half-Sufi. The dervish is the guardian of his ancestors' heritage. From this mountain to that mountain, from this end of the valley to that end of the castle, from this end of the plain to that end of the road, and all the seven springs, everything is the legacy of his ancestors. He was telling the truth. Along the way, several people had told me that that doorless and bodyless paradise belonged to Mehrdad, the dervish whose firewood teapot is always next to the ruins of the castle. Mehrdad pours me tea and talks to me for hours. He tells me so much wisdom, anecdotes, and travelogues that I forget why I came. Suddenly, the voice of a woman with a strange accent and a strange manner disrupts our solitude.
-Mehrdad Mehrdad, you have become a fool and a glutton again... Come on, I have the news of your death, take these gas cylinders and fill them.
The dervish glances at me, lowers his head, and says:
My wife, my dear, I brought it from Ukraine. I converted her to Islam myself. She is rude and uncouth, but she is very beautiful and I love her very much.
I tell Darvish:
Let her grow old together, God willing, if you love her so much, marry her. Why is it so half-and-half!
Darvish sighs deeply and says:
This is my third wife. The other two left me during our travels. The first one ran away with my five-year-old son on a trip to America and never came back. I was traveling with my second wife for eight years. We were supposed to walk around the world, but when we got to Italy, a Florentine chick got her brains kicked and she had sex with him, and he left me with the chick. I will not marry this Ukrainian unless I travel with her and pass the exam.
- Did you come by car?
+Yes
-If you don't mind, let's go together to Abadi to have these gas cylinders filled for me.
+What a hassle! Let's go, Darvish, let's go.
He brings the cylinders from inside the house, we put them in the car and go to Abadi. After filling the cylinders and while counting the money at the counter, he says to me:
-Young man, I didn't have any money in the house, and I left my bank card in my hand. This is twenty thousand tomans, you can swipe twenty-five thousand tomans for this uncle, I'll take five tomans in cash from him to buy cigarettes, then he'll take me home. Next time I come to Abadi, I'll bring my bank card with me and I'll give you money from the ATM. Please text me your card number right now.
+ Okay, okay, no problem Darvish, give it to me later.
I laugh in my heart and say to myself: All this poetry, stories, fables, anecdotes, and wisdom, for only 25,000 high-ranking muftis. Poor thing, I'll just count on being a customer.

(5)

Hello everyone
Drink

- I have a language class tomorrow, I didn't do any of the exercises and homework my teacher gave me. I just realized how much trouble you go through with the homework you prepare and bring to Photoshop class.
+ You are our teacher, there is no argument, but we are also friends, please be lenient.
- If my language teacher is lenient, I will be lenient to you too.

Hello, my knowledgeable friend
Drink

- Did you really move? Did you move?
+ Be a little more lenient and cancel Sunday's class, we will move the furniture too.

Hello to all the displaced and homeless
Drink

- What did your father do? Move the furniture?
+ Their house is ready, there is a little work to be done, like installing cabinets and parquet, air conditioners, etc., it will be finished in the next week or two and they will move to a new house. On the other hand, he won't be at ease until I get up from there. He's waiting for me to go first.

Hello to all the grandparents
Drink

- Where are you living now, hello?
+ Somewhere around Karaj, at the beginning of a beautiful, mahogany plain.
- What happened to you when you ended up there? You were supposed to be a Tehran kid and you can't live anywhere else?
+ We've tried our luck in this city / We have to pull ourselves out of this abyss of our clothes.

Hello to all the Tehranians
Drink

- Well! After our luck and our clothes!
+ You know! I always felt sorry for people without a homeland. Those whose feet are not tied anywhere on earth, those who have no prejudice against any land or climate, those whose goal in life is beyond food and sleep, those for whom the distance of home does not diminish their emotions and feelings, those who become dearer the further they go, those who do not belong anywhere, those who are free and liberated from any constraints... Yes, those who are free and liberated. I always wanted to be like these people. Now this opportunity has come and I am grateful.

Another one to pour
"I can't"