‘Fog is the ideal weather’: Sidewalk talk

Wednesday was the first properly sunny day this year. A respite so fleeting, as with all such moments in our country.

Wednesday was also an episode of unprecedented scale of Israeli terror on Lebanon.

A cease-fire had been announced overnight between Iran and the U.S. Then, around midday, Israel barreled into Lebanon with over 100 strikes in 10 minutes, a number that should not be fathomable. So it isn’t.

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I was stuck on the Corniche al-Nahr intersection, almost on the way to Burj Hammoud. The intersection, notorious for its non-functioning traffic lights and, even on its best days, a breeding ground for chaos, was, that day, something out of a delirium.

Cars packed the street. Jaded looks, drawn countenances, jumpy body language. A bursting pipe of anxiety and foggy heads, spilling slowly onto the highway.

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A fight broke out between two men on motorcycles. Lebanese curse words spewed into the air, creative, brutal.

A woman in a beat-up BMW bargained with an officer through her window, her face red, rubbing her temples.

Talk to the traffic officer in front. What’s the hold-up? I need to go pick up my daughter. That’s my daughter.

An abandoned cup of coffee on the sidewalk, still steaming.

I left the car and stood on the sidewalk, in a patch of sun. A man leaned against his motorcycle near the newelneh — small coffee kiosks attached to mini-markets, a robust drive-thru system.

We stood there watching the commotion, succinctly glossing over what was happening. Israel goes the extra mile in violence, then runs a marathon. Again.

The weather came up.

Yeah, I like the sunny weather too. But I didn’t mind the fog last week. It’s the best weather for the guys in the South.

I don’t know what’s going on today. I just got back from Barbour. It was right in front of us, the strike. I was dropping off a friend. We got away by some miracle. It was so close.

Thank God, thank God. Not a scratch. Nothing happened to us.

A mirthless smile, like he had just called his own bluff.

Well, one really bad thing happened. A very bad thing. We saw a man dead in the street, blown off his motorcycle.

I looked down, shook my head.

Stillness in the air. Bouts of rage. I decided to walk back home. I told him I wouldn’t take any more of his time. He seemed antsy.

Oh, I’m not going to work now. Rayih eshrab finjen ahwe.