Azad and I meet for drinks Saturday night in the Lower East Side. He tells me he doesn’t
think much of his name, but it’s cool that I love it so much. I think about that. Azad

doesn’t think much of the fact that he is always Free. Azad doesn’t think much of his name, the mantra of the Iranian Revolution: Zan, Zendegi, Azadi.      

                                                                                       Woman, Life, Freedom
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