In Tehran's working-class neighborhood around Imam Hussein Square, side streets and alleys are lined with second-hand shops and small repair shops fixing all kinds of household items. But there isn't much to do, and most shopkeepers just hang out in front of their shops.
Mr. Abbas, 60, and his son Asghar, 32, sat in two second-hand faux brocade armchairs that they were selling. Mr. Abbas, who did not want to give his last name for fear of drawing government attention, looked incredulous when asked about their business.
“You can see it just by looking around the street,” he said. “Business is terrible. There are no customers, people are economically weak, they don't have money.”
Years of U.S. sanctions have led to chronic inflation, exacerbated by Iran's economic mismanagement and corruption, and Iranians find themselves increasingly caught in a downward economic spiral.
Nearly everyone interviewed during six days in the Iranian capital described a pervasive sense of losing ground economically, of window shopping instead of buying, of repairing factory machinery because replacements are too expensive, of eating lentils instead of lamb.
Even in Tehran's upscale Pasdaran district, where chic cafes serve croissants and cappuccinos and streets are lined with posh Art Deco apartment buildings, most Iranians, regardless of their political views, have one demand for the next president to be chosen in Friday's runoff election: fix the economy.
When asked how her business is doing, Roia, a warm-smiling 25-year-old woman who runs a small cosmetics shop in a market in northern Tehran, says in one word: “It's decreasing.”
But with shelves packed with moisturizers, mascaras, blushers and serums, the store seems thriving – so what's missing?
“Everything is becoming less and less: fewer customers, less things to buy, fewer sources of imported cosmetics,” said the woman, who asked that her last name not be used for fear of retribution from her boss or the government.
French and German brands prized by sophisticated Iranians have become too expensive for all but the very wealthy, she said.
There is also little diversity in the vehicles on Iran's congested roads, including aging production built in joint ventures with European and Japanese manufacturers after sanctions were eased, as well as domestically produced copies.
Much foreign investment also disappeared after President Donald J. Trump unilaterally withdrew the United States from the 2015 nuclear deal that Iran had negotiated with Western countries and reimposed sanctions on banking and oil sales.
At the same time, symbols of wealth are still easily visible: Luxury consumer goods such as iPhones, designer clothes, Italian kitchen appliances and the latest German lamps are on sale in north Tehran's shopping malls and boutiques. Construction projects are underway in many districts. And, despite relentless sanctions, the government has managed to expand its advanced uranium enrichment program.
Iranians are feeling the worsening economic situation partly because of the difference from the 1990s through 2010, when the middle class could expect annual real income increases.
Since then, inflation and a weak currency have seen the incomes and wealth of Iranians decline, except for a small, well-connected elite of clerics and military officers at the top of the economy, as well as businessmen, developers and high-level professionals.
In 2000, there were about 8,000 Iranian rials to the dollar; today it is about 42,000 at the official rate and closer to 60,000 on the street. Inflation has calmed but still hovers at about 37 percent per year, according to the International Monetary Fund, rates that would be unimaginable in the United States or Europe.
Despite tough headwinds, Iran has managed to achieve economic growth of about 1.7 percent per year since 2010, when the Obama administration tightened sanctions over Iran's nuclear program. Economic experts say the growth is mainly due to increased oil production and sales from the expanding Chinese market, according to the Congressional Research Service.
“Sanctions have cast a long shadow over the Iranian economy, but it has not yet collapsed,” said Esfandiyar Batmangheri, president of the Burmese and Bazaar Foundation, an economic think tank focused on the Middle East and Central Asia. But he added that the modest growth achieved despite sanctions is of little comfort to Iranians, who are keenly aware “how much opportunity remains.”
The currency has fallen so badly that foreigners looking to exchange $100 for Iranian rials are given stacks of thick notes so bulky and heavy they have to be carried in a briefcase or backpack. The government has begun introducing a new currency, the tomam, officially worth 10 rials.
“Only those who have money can live a comfortable life,” said Vahid Arafati, 36, as he sat on a cobbled square outside his small cafe sipping espresso and freshly squeezed carrot juice with friends.
While middle-class people talk about the cost of housing and how young people are postponing marriage because they cannot afford to buy a home, less fortunate Iranians, living month to month on a small salary and spending an average of 70 percent of their income on rent, face a much worse situation.
At the presidential election last Friday at Masjid Lourzadeh mosque in a less affluent neighborhood in southern Tehran, many people expressed anger at U.S. sanctions and its treatment of Iran, but also called for their grievances to be heard by the next Iranian president.
“I want the president to hear my problems,” said Mina, 62, who, like most of the women there, was clad from head to toe in a black chador. “I live in a basement, my children can't find work and they need surgery, but I've come to vote anyway,” she said, grimacing as she made her way to the ballot box.
There is no limit to how much landlords can increase rents, so people like Mina live in constant fear that rising rents will force them out of their homes.
Sitting next to her, Fatima, 48, a housewife, is particularly angry about U.S. sanctions, which she blames for Iran's economic problems. “These problems, these sanctions, are created by our enemies, but they will not succeed,” she said. “We are going to stab our enemies in the eye.”
Abbas, the chair salesman, has a different view of the economy. “Iran is a rich country, but the wealth is not in the hands of the people,” he says. “I don't know where it's going. I'm not the government. They may know where it's going, but every year the situation gets worse.”
“No president can help,” he added. “When the previous president came to power three years ago, the price of a kilogram of meat was 100,000 tomamu. Now it's 600,000 tomamu.”
A few doors down, in the workshop where Habas repairs the chairs he sells, the mood is even darker.
In the back, two sweaty workers were repairing cushions, working quickly and silently: they were educated but years of dwindling wealth had left their families unable to make ends meet and forced them to look for work wherever they could.
The third man, Mohammed Reza Moharan Zareh, 36, said he had graduated from high school and was ready to go to university to become a pilot but had to drop his studies to help his father's carpet shop when it was on the verge of bankruptcy.
Now, he says his only hope is to emigrate to Germany.
“Many of my friends have left the country. It's difficult to leave legally, but we have no other choice,” he said. “I earn about $220 a month, of which $180 goes to rent. I'm single, how can I get married? Iran is not a good place to make money.”
Despite standing just over four feet tall, 62-year-old Sedigye Boromand, who works as a school janitor, nearly broke down in tears as he described how his life is falling apart, increasingly unable to afford anything other than a place to live and food.
“My daughter died eight months ago because I didn't have money to buy the medicine she needed,” Boromand said. “She had lung disease and I watched her gasp, unable to breathe. My eldest son also died of heart disease. He has a baby and I am paying for his upbringing.”
“My third son has been drafted but he is disabled and we look after him,” she added, nodding to her husband, who also works at the school.
“We call on politicians to end the suffering.”