The first story_section 4 :persian is sugar

It became clear that there were three guests. I took this number as a good omen and wanted to start a conversation with my companions, perhaps to find a solution after realizing each other’s presence. Suddenly, the door to the room burst open with a lot of noise, revealing that a special agent from Rasht had arrived to scare the people of Anzali. This poor soul had been imprisoned because, years ago, during the turmoil of the Constitutional Revolution, he had worked as a servant for a Caucasian. The newcomer, realizing his complaints weren’t helping, wiped his eyes with the hem of his dirty robe and, knowing that no guards were around, let out a barrage of insults in the Iranian way, like the rotten melons and tobacco typical to the country, cursing everything and everyone. After seeing that no matter how rotten the situation was, the official was worse, he laid on the floor in defeat and gazed out at the prison yard, realizing he was not alone. Since I was a foreigner and had nothing to do with the situation, I also found no way to intervene. This was when I noticed that the new man had an expression of total frustration and fear.