by John B.
...There was a crashing of hookahs and a woman's shrieking..."Fight! Fight! Fight!". Some guy had removed the top tube-thing of his hookah and was brandishing it like a club, threatening another patron at Marjan. It was 2:20 am, the last bars had closed, and the drunks had descended on Marjan. My friend the military man standing and clapping, his eyes glazed over in wonder..."I love Marjan!!!" he said. In the background, persian music videos played on the big screen; a wailing, high-pitched female voice accompanied the madness. They don't sell liquor here, so it seems that most patrons decide to get themselves good and drunk before coming, nights. One of the great, shadowy establishments of Prospect street.
