“Hey, today is my treat.”
“Come on, it’s not worth it, save your money for going back home.”
“No really, I’d feel back. I am paying. Just try to book a table and I’ll follow
you with the food.”
“Oh, there you are. So, anything new since last time?”
“Not much for me. How are you doing? Better? Do you have words for what
it feels like?”
“It’s a little like living in a Dali painting, waiting for the female elephant
giraffe to show from behind the clouds, or using a gladiolus as a gramophone
speaker, it’s that absurd.”
“You feel so totally out of place, I wish there’s something I can do. I mean it.”
“Well, hell is paved is well intentions. Not that I am being dismissive, I am
very grateful, but there’s really nothing anyone can do for me. It’s really like
being in a no man’s land, this vague space between two countries. I speak
from experience; I once spent a night in a no man’s land. And it really felt the
same thing. I am not sure what year it was, probably 2000. We were on this
stupid mission to transport a lightweight detla plane from Beirut to Amman
in Jordan and we decided a road trip would be best. I was consulting with
an aero-club back then. And so it took us a long time to finish the customs’
formalities on the Lebanese side, and so by the time we got to the Syrian
borders their customs’ were closed. We could have went in as individuals, but
not with merchandise or cargo. We could have went back to Lebanon, but we
had to pay another fee because we had the plane towed to the car. So there we
were stuck, me and the club manager, in the space in-between Lebanon and
Syria knowing we couldn’t get into either of the two countries. All night, we
observed people going with definite purpose in their cars into either one of the
two countries, but all we could do is take turns at sleeping in a VW Golf.”
“It’s sad.”
“I am not sure it sad is the term. But it was so strange when everyone was
passing us by. It had a definite feeling of standing still. Like running on a
treadmill: You are doing all the effort, but you know you’re not heading any-
where.”
“Take heed, you’ll get there. Soon, hopefully. Who knows, maybe in the fu-
ture, I could come by for a visit as well. Right now, I don’t feel that Lebanese
would welcome Americans.”

“That’s just media bullshit, all this accusative thing. Yes, OK, part of the
blame would be put on you, but not as a citizen, just as an “American.” And
then these same people they’d offer you coffee and insist you’d stay for
lunch.”
“Well, I am not sure how I’ll get by if I don’t know any Arabic.”
“Everyone speaks debris of English, and a lot of French. You’ll get by, stop
being so paranoid. We’re a little hormonal as people, but we don’t bear
grudges for long.”
“It’s not a smart idea still.”
“I envy them.”
“What?”
“In envy them, the metro people.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The metro ones. The sardine boxes ones, the beauty queens parading in
bikinis to get crowns, the ones who know theirs ends justify their means,
those hiding behind Sunday newspapers on Thursdays, the black big breasted
women ones, the white ones with breast implants, the ones on diets, the ones
starting diets “next Monday,” the secretaries, and those who sleep with secre-
taries, and those who married them, the ones checking the maps, the tour-
istsinournationscapital ones, the white snickered ones, and orthopedic sole
ones, the gays and the queens, and the scholars with beards saying “I read
this study, no, I read about this study,” the ones in Chanel suits and the ones
wearing Chanel knock offs, the ones who say they are not alcoholics and
they know when to stop, the ones into immaculate conception, the ones into
immaculate contraception, the ones with twisted ankles for missing a step on
the corporate ladder, the ones born again, the one boring again, the ones who
think I have a purpose too because I am a metro people too.”
“I give up. I think you’re tired. Which is normal considering the…”
“Please don’t give the “considering the circumstances” one. Please don’t!
Look you’d better go back to work; it’s already past your lunch break limit.
I’ll keep in touch by email.”