Mahmud Dervish drank his coffee under the bombardment under the rain of hatred but the only thing he still had and what was his pleasure and fun, was drinking of coffee between the concrete ruin in which he lived, the water that slowly began to boil and the smell of coffee, which reminded him of the happiness and the days which will never came back, never again, but he always found those days in his coffee. Even wanted it to be the last thing he had, while the bombs of him the mince made.