Eighteen years you beat me over the head br with the butt end of our brotherhood. br So where are you now, Mr. Top br Dog on the Bunk Bed, Mr. Big br Back on the High School Football Team? br br You hauled ass out of that town br with its flimsy goalposts. br Now you're down there with your Dead br Sea, your Jerusalem, busy br with the same old border disputes br br that sparked our earliest fist fights. br Israel is just another locked toy br closet on your side of the bedroom, split br by electric train tracks. It's as if br you never left home at all: Yesterday br br in a bar in Washington Heights br I saw a man who could have been you. br The Jets were playing the Steelers with two br downs to go, and in the icy br lightshow of smoke br br he lifted a pitcher of beer br and swilled it just as the screen br blazed red with an ad for Gillette. br And I thought, Here is my blood brother br whose only gifts to me were kicks br br in the teeth, his cast-off comic books, br and worst of all, wrapped, sharpened br for a lifetime, br the perfect razor of my rage.