I liked to watch the guards come and go. They gave each other low fives in parting. I wondered who they were outside of their station by the gate. One of them often had a book in hand. One was inclined to pacing. His boots looked too big for him. He didn’t look old enough for his weapon. Who was guarding their wives, children, and mothers? If the rebels or the government troops came, would the guards take bullets for us? What did we pay them for their lives?
