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EAST Beirut – 1982 – The tires were screeching as I raced the car in the empty narrow streets trying to beat my friend Marwin's performance by finishing the circuit in the middle of the night without hitting the brakes, when no cat dared put its nose out. The ceasefire had ended and hostilities, just like every night, were filling the darkness. A blinding flash of light struck my rearview mirror followed by an explosion that reverberated into my ears like thunder, trailed by another flash and explosion; the bombing had resumed after the business-as-usual day and people had been able to meet their basic physiological and social necessities.

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