Lots of guns out last night, pistols, a rifle, and plenty of strong Arak, a dangerous mix, I took the bullets out when Lukman, the mad Kurd I’m drinking with, started putting the gun to my head. We had a deal; whoever has the gun cannot have the holster that holds the bullets. So I had the holster and he had the gun. I awoke this morning reaching for water to drink the dry Arak morning mouth off and found the silver Colt 45 on the edge of my pillow pointing at my head. Against the wall is the Magnum rifle. Boys and their toys, Syria, like all good dictatorships, feels like the safest place in the world, through fear they keep the lid on life in case it gets out of hand. I look around for the bullet holster and cannot see it anywhere, then I notice that it is firmly lodged back in the gun which is laid there staring at me.