I pulled night watch at the dorms tonight. Ah, the shabab are the same the world over. I think I learned every Kurdish curse in the book. In smoke-filled dorm rooms, I was treated to salty sunflower seeds and mournful Kurdish folk songs that left me moved. Violins echoed through the dank halls. The moon loomed large and full over a peaceful night. I haven't done a very good job of getting the kiddies to bed early, or silencing the music at a reasonable hour but I don't think there is a nightwatchman in the world as lucky as me.