Crystal meth, known in Iran as shisheh, or crystalline glass, has in a very short time become Tehran’s drug of choice. Meth is to sedative opiates, one could say, what new Tehran is to old Tehran. Injecting meth brings a quick rush of energy: energy to keep pace with zooming inflation and attaining unimagined achievements. It boosts your self confidence so that the parade of late model Porsches becomes palatable, so that you can more easily imagine yourself the soon-to-be lucky owner of a penthouse in one of north Tehran’s residential towers.
It heats up to a boil your hidden talents, letting you rise out of an expanding and indifferent crowd. It melts away the inhibitions that seemed to be the largest barrier between you and all the new sexualised human objects. It will make you optimistically elated, more so than the evening news on national TV. And without a hint of exhaustion you soon expand your domain to the latest international currency indexes and precious metal options. When you smoke meth, you become loquacious, a poet – and profuse verbiage is the currency of middle class trade in this metropolis.