In the saturdaymorning-paper it is said how they fight and kill in the desert, shouting "Allah Akbar!"
I lean against the balconydoor and wonder what it would be like. Maybe I would fight, screaming "death to the enemy!" or something.
Around me all godless apartmentblocks and neat little houses with red roofs and green lawns.
"The coffee is ready," Ilse says.
"Yes, I'm coming."
The baby cries.