Teenagers no more

A pack of white old-timers are sitting at a worn-down table in front of a kebab shop. Thin hair. Unshaved saggy cheeks. T-shirts and sleeveless denim jackets. Smoking, drinking bagged tea from small scuffed glasses, watching the street. A bluetooth speaker is placed on the table, a small orange cylinder nevertheless capable of producing deep bass, similar to those weapons of audio assault that any group of teenagers would carry with them nowadays. The men at the table aren’t teenagers no more. But the beat is thumping.