You'd have to see it

Try to imagine the following picture. Forty some-odd Americans packed into a wooden shack which has been turned into a bar. In the midst of cigarette smoke a group of optimists try to continue a game of darts which started before the swelling of the crowd. Around the room, there are retired policemen engaged in supposedly serious conversations which compare the quality of law-enforcement in their one-horse towns to that in Afghanistan. Behind the bar, a middle-aged ex-Marine Gunnery Sergeant defends his appreciation for the Boss against the occasionaly vehement protests of those patrons who consider Bruce Springsteen a traitor for speaking out against the war. In a corner, a young man desperately tries to woo one of the two women in the room, not out of real attraction so much as loneliness and desperation. In the backround, two Afghan Generals bum smokes and talk haltingly with the assistance of interpreters. One drinks a beer, though he is Muslim and this is Ramadan. There is a tension between the two main groups of this demographic. Some are ex-soldiers, who found their way here because of boredom and a desire to be in "the shit" one more time. Others are ex-cops who didn't want to live on their pensions. There are several small groups, each putting forth its own emotional vibration which can be seen and felt at a distance. One is anxious, serious. Another is gregarious. There is, among everyone, the sense of holding the outside world at bay for one more hour. In this respect it is no different from any bar I've ever entered. The walls hold in and protect a semblance of life at home. Your's truly stands at the end of the bar, listening to the conversations around him. Today in Kabul, three UN employees were kidnapped in broad daylight. None of us expect them to live.