'This was our very last amayesh.' Agha-ye Hosseini pulls a piece of paper from his wallet and smooths it out against his knee. The paper is torn along the creases and the edges have the soft, ragged appearance of a document that has been frequently handled. 'See the date.' He holds it up towards me and I peer closely, attempting to decipher, in the interior gloom of the unlit basement apartment, the Persian script. Agha-ye…
