How It All Blew Up

by Arvin Ahmadi

If Jahan was the sun, then Neil was a solar eclipse; I was afraid if I looked directly at him, I might go blind.

Much like with capitalism and heteronormativity, Jahan believed mornings to be an oppressive construct and made it his personal mission to disregard them.

It didn’t ruin the fantasy at all. There was no fantasy. Friendship, I realized, is better than fantasy.

I took a step—AT THE VATICAN. I drank some water—AT THE VATICAN. I took a shit—AT THE VATICAN. That last one might have actually been significant. It was technically the holiest shit of my life.