I’m not sure if it’s him or not. I don’t recall vividly, but if this is the same Amin that I have in mind I don’t know what to say. I’ve met him just once. It was at a friend’s birthday party. I was weary and the party’s bustle was suffocating me. The only escape was a balcony accessible from the kitchen. I had to set my mind to it, and pass through this dark passageway abuzz with dancing, smoking and sweat. Within this commotion, someone took my hand and motioned me to dance. Still boredom eventually reached my veins again, and I drove myself further to the balcony.

From the balcony’s edge, I lit cigarette, and the height of the building and the image of the night seemed far away. I looked at Keivan who was playing with his cigarette and seemed pensive. I was going to ask him something when a boy in a stiff collar and a white starched shirt entered the balcony. He was formal and it seemed that he had tried to create a neck that he didn’t possess with that collar.

He greeted us and introduced himself very formally. He said to Keivan: “Your face is very familiar to me. Have I not met you in L.A.?

Keivan was startled, “No, why there?”

“I feel that I have seen you in one of the bars there”, Amin answered. “The parties there are exactly like the parties here, very friendly and warm, the Iranians are great too.”

Keivan answered with a fake formal tone, “I have not had the honor to visit there. But it’s quite some time that I’m in St. Louis for work. Maybe we met there.”

Amin said, “No, I’ve not visited there yet. I’ve been in America for ten years, but I’ve not set my feet outside of L.A. It’s great there, it smells like Iran. By the way, pardon me for asking, what is your job?”

Keivan replied, “I’m a documentary director. I’m currently working on a series of documentaries about immigrant Iranian artists working abroad.”

Amin was delighted, “Wow. So you’re a filmmaker and I’m very pleased to meet you. If that’s the case, you must visit L.A. The real artists are there. Behrouz Vosoughi is a friend of a friend of mine. I can introduce you to him so he can play for you.”

Keivan explained patiently that a documentary differs from a fiction film, and that his work is something else, but he was still grateful for the suggestion.

Amin said, “So I have to connect you to the Iranian satellite networks, like Hamid Shabkhiz. He is similar kind of artist and adores artists like you. I’m sure you know him. He hosts important concerts in L.A. His satellite network is awesome. He can certainly help you in broadcasting or other stuff.”

A light was twinkling in the Keivan’s eyes, and we tried to hide our laughter. Without waiting for Keivan’s answer, Amin said, “Write down my Tehran phone number. I’ll be in Iran in a month. We can arrange a meeting and discuss it further.”

Keivan replied playfully, “Unfortunately I have left my cellphone at home.”

Amin was going to say something but I abruptly cut him off, “I’m Keivan’s colleague. I can save your number in my cellphone.”

He was glad, gave me the phone number and left the balcony.