That’s Their Problem

Behind them the old guys were still at it. Four guys were throwing styrofoam “rocks” at two others who held mist-spouting “guns.” In the desert, the mist felt pretty good to the rock throwers but that didn’t stop their ferocity.

Chaim and Ali were eating dinner, amused by the antics. The cafe in Jerusalem was a new one, with all the trendy amenities. The wine was spectacular and the appetizers were impossibly good.

An elderly woman pushed toward their table. She had something strapped to her body with wires going everywhere. Ali smiled. Chaim gave her a few shekels. The woman screamed and activated a detonator. A sign popped up (it said “bang” in Arabic) and everybody in the restaurant laughed and applauded.

“They’re cute at that age,” said Chaim.

“Hard to believe how out of control they were in their younger years,” Ali said reflexively.

They shared food and old stories. The evening went on pleasantly.

A wild-eyed woman of perhaps eighty glared at them from the corner.

“She’s still stuck in the bad old days,” noted Chaim.

“Aren’t they all?” added Ali.

A styrofoam rock hit Chaim in the shoulder. He cheerfully tossed it back to the elders.

“We took away their toys, but they still can’t seem to move on,” said Ali.

“That’s their problem,” said Chaim. “Please pass the bacon.”