The street had a pulse of its own; women walked by us in tight, colorful manteaux and loose headscarves, others covered in black chadors; some men wore suits, and some wore tight jeans, all headed toward some purpose. The smell of car exhaust, kebab, and freshly baked pastry, the calling of peddlers, the laughter of flirtatious young men and women—the thrum of the city bolstered me high.
A walk on an avenue in Tehran
