We get together at 7am to eat freshly slaughtered, raw meat and drink Arak someone’s granduncle makes back in the village. "My Muslim friends don’t drink when they do this, so they get sick sometimes." Two people talk about their school and how they’d get beaten up and beat up. "I cried when I got my first gun, at age twelve." The meat cubes get folded into the pita and you eat very slowly. I’m told that usually all is fine as long as I don’t try to stand up. Someone stands up and pulls out his belt the way his dad used to before he’d hit him. "The holocaust is nothing compared to what Israel did to Lebanon." I pick the fight and am grateful when someone in Lebanese takes over, long enough that after ten minutes of listening to him berating the idiot me and two others repair to the kitchen.

Marc says he regrets losing his early twenties to depression so now he doesn’t have a BA and it’s too late to try to use studying to leave the country, so he’s working on becoming a sexologist and helping to fix some of the fucked up sexual politics in the country. Around noon we all pass out together, except for one person who’s been asleep on a couch since 10am. "For me it’s either move abroad or the military, and I don’t want to join the military."