That night, when bombs stopped painting the sky with fire, when darkness thickened again around the lightless town, the men opened their doors and walked toward a clearing where a single car idled on precious gas. A television set perched on its hood drew life from the battery.
One by one they gathered around the small screen. Arms around shoulders they huddled tight and with hungry eyes they watched unwarring countries at play. For every goal or miss, the men shifted and moved. They clenched fists, stomped feet, but swallowed their cheers so silence would linger as long as it could.