My mother was religious and my father was an alcoholic who did not believe in God. When I was a teenager, we moved to the Armenian neighborhood... A place that had both a mosque and a church! ... I remember my memories piece by piece from every color and design... Like smoking the first marijuana, staring at the nude pictures of women on the ceiling of the church.... Like getting drunk and spinning under the turquoise dome of the mosque... . What do you look like in this strange world? . It's me... butchered into different pieces...