mafia

It is dusk - almost dark. Three large men dressed casually dressy sit in front of me at a table outside the coffeehouse. They are not nice men. With a nasty feeling down in my stomach, I realize they are speaking Lebanese, with the sporadic English word: "desperate," "half-breed," and once, loudly "...the fuck?"

One of the men, with a shaved head and four gold rings, pulls off both black loafers he is wearing, then peels off both socks, puts his feet up on the table.

A beautiful, dark woman walks by, and another of the men says "Sharmouta." I want to kick him in the teeth.