Midnight in Beirut

Its midnight. Friday night. Beirut is deserted. East, west, left, right... It's deserted. Gemmayze is empty. Brummana is full. Reminds me of Israel's war in 2006. A light of hope flickers red - Torino's open. The red is soothing - you'll never hear about soothing red in books. I step in to a full house. The usual bartenders, aging but forever young, man the bar. A rosee please - i'm not sure why i drink rosee, perhaps because I'm not much of a drinker. Lots of 'ajehnib' (foreigners) speaking in multitudes of tongues, mostly journalists drinking away their existential ponderings. I look around, a man catches my eye, he tips his hat to me - a picture on an LP. An old friend walks in. He doesn't remember me. In 2006 we exchanged anecdotes of body counts and Israeli brutality - he's a cameraman. Tonight he's cheery, making money covering a different kind of war, perhaps by the look on his face a peaceful war - if there ever were such a thing. Fighting has all but died down in the capital (Beirut). He kisses the blonde next to me - hi keefik ca va? Torino closes its wooden doors. It's going to be a long night.