Giant American Rats Rule!

[Amman, 7/15/25]

At 5:47AM on my last full day in Amman, I’m sitting on marble steps across from the Nymphaeum, drinking a one-dollar coffee. Arabs prefer theirs bitter. Buying coffee for two guys at my Cairo hotel four years ago, I made the mistake of getting Nescafe, so they refused to drink it, after shooting me a look of astonishment that said, “This Chinaman is insane.” I fondly remember eating dinner with those goofballs.

Within eight feet of me is the old man who runs this tiny café. In his indigo thawb, he’s most dignified, almost regal, a deserving king of Jordan. His highness is chatting with a middle aged, somewhat chubby black man. Their quiet, sustained back and forth shows they know each other well. Minutes ago, there was a cat licking his balls on the asphalt, but after that pause of piddly pleasure, he’s moved on to much greater concerns, though I, for one, can’t think of any.