A friend of the sailors arrived. His relatives fled from the smoke to the neighboring area. He didn’t have the keys to the house, so he stopped with me. We go to the store (understood in masks), amidst this oppressive silence, sometimes disrupted by fire helicopters, a rhythmic "bunny" is spread. Looking around, we shrugged our shoulders incomprehensibly, and we went on. Suddenly a man comes out of the smoke, holding a bowl in his hands and crawling over it with a hammer. A friend can’t stand it, asks the man:
Are you pinging, sonaric?