I started to feel drowsy from the post-iftar food coma, the still air in the room, and the melancholic rhythm of the preacher’s recitation. I tried reading the Farsi subtitles to stay focused, but my eyes were tearing yawn after yawn.
Your Storming Bohemian is emphatically a child of the early 70s. At fifteen, I lived in a hippie commune under the guidance of an eccentric psychologist, later diagnosed as bipolar. All I knew is, he was hella fun. Dr. Bill wasn’t the sort to make a fuss about school attendance, regular hours, pot smoking, or […]