Two mountain peaks flashed as the train left the tunnel. They were passing through the Swiss Alps. Over the past month trains had taken them by many different sites throughout Europe. Their four-seat formation in the train had a tense energy bouncing off the windows. The game had lasted for several hours at that point. Harold was in the 'zone'. He sharply focused both on the cards and the facial expressions of his opponent - his best friend Igor. Over the next several moves their epic battle in the game of gin rummy was going to come to an end. Igor was waiting for another jack. Harold was waiting for another queen. Harold managed to figure out that Igor was collecting jacks. He held the third one in his hand. Chances are, Igor did the same thing with queens. They played this game many times before.

The state of the game was obvious. The outcome, on the contrary, was far from that. It was going to be decided by luck. Seated to Harold's right, an obese, middle-aged man was observing the game. He started following it when they were about half an hour into the game. An hour in, the man wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. He was sweating as well. They quickly picked up on it but paid him no mind, consumed by the game.

Both Harold and Igor grabbed their beers and took a long sip. It was Harold's time to pull the card. His eyes were wandering. He glanced through the window and witnessed a breathtaking view. Mountaintops covered in snow stretched out as far as his eyes could reach. They all seemed identical, yet there was something unique about the way each one rose towards the heavens.

Harold soaked in the view for a short moment. The enchanting serenity opposed the state the world was in. It opposed the mind state he was in. He pulled a card. The middle-aged man visibly flinched. Ignoring his reaction, Harold fixed his eyes on the card. It wasn't a queen nor a jack. Harold put the card down on the pile between him and his friend. Igor promptly pulled a card as Harold's turn came to an end. He threw his head back into the cushy train seat as he glanced at the new card and placed it over the one Harold just laid down. The older man exhaled audibly. The younger men paid yet another reaction no mind as they intensely studied the neatly arranged cards in their hands. Harold never understood the human need to make up groups and divide.

Humans consistently had a need to group and classify due to the slightest differences. To divide according to skin color or wealth, religion or nationality. For millenniums, philosophers rambled on of the weak and the strong, the virtuous and the faulty. Wars were waged, presently and historically, over these nebulous classifications. Millions of lives lost, countless more ruined. Whichever way Harold observed it, none of it, in essence, made any sense to him. Igor had a different opinion. Though his sense of nationalism had slowly built up over the previous year or two. It started when he, a finance student, got interested in politics. This interest was initiated by social media clips. Dubious podcasts and news channels poured gas onto the fire. Then it exploded into avoiding social interactions with certain people at the university. Harold witnessed it all play out in front of him but ultimately failed to recognize what was happening. Before he knew it, his friend was pulled under by the global wave of extremism.

"Collecting jacks and suits? How appropriate," Harold said with a sour smile as he sipped on his beer.

"Let me guess, queens and hearts? Rather fitting, wouldn't you say?" Igor responded, rolling his eyes.

They had often butted heads over the past year or so. Numerous times during their trip, the fights had gotten heated. Silence took over once again. Harold's hand froze. Only four cards left in the deck… He felt as if luck wasn't on his side that day. The immense pressure drove his eyes towards the beer bottle. It was empty. His eyes then instinctively wondered towards Igor's beer. Also empty. The memory of the day they first met flashed in Harold's mind. He was on a basketball court in Madrid shooting for fun. Igor just walked up out of nowhere. They ended up playing intensely for hours.

A grin broke over Harold's face as he remembered how well he knew his friend. He wouldn't be a victim of luck. Not that day at least. For, on their scale of importance, no game, no matter how tense, outweighed another cold beer, or two.

"Your beer is empty," Harold said raising his eyebrows.

"So is yours," Igor responded matching his facial expression.

They stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. They dropped their cards on the table and Igor quickly swept them up as they headed towards the restaurant wagon. The middle-aged man had been left sitting in shock. Just like on the day their friendship started, they left their battle unfinished and went to get a drink.

The restaurant wagon had the widest windows. Harold almost immediately got lost in his thoughts staring at the passing landscape. Igor snapped him out of it when he put two beer bottles on the table. The two 0.5 liter Das Weizen beers were sweating right in front of them. They both soaked in the newly presented beauty in silence for a second before taking a sip. They spent the rest of the train ride reminiscing about their trip. They talked about the Dutch med student they met in Brussels that somehow managed to beat them both in every single game at the fair. The middle-aged couple from India they had dinner with in Germany. The restaurant staff laughed at them as they argued and filibustered over who was going to pay the check. The green-eyed girl that worked at the medieval festival barbecue stand in Prague that enchanted them both. That day, they ate so many sausages that they weren't able to drink a single beer in a city in which beer was cheaper than bottled water.

Later that day their paths diverged. Standing at the train station Harold couldn't find any words. He was never good at goodbyes. "Don't worry about me, there's no war anywhere even close to my country," Igor said as he laid his hand on Harold's shoulder. "Is war ever far away from where humans are?" Harold said instinctively while staring at his feet. "Always the pessimist…" A smile cracked over Igor's face. He threw something to Harold. "How about this. You keep the deck, and we'll open it up the next time we sit to drink together. The last four cards of the game are on the inside of the scratched side of the pack. I promise I didn't cheat," he winked and slapped Harold on the arm. "Three months from now we'll be drinking beer in Madrid again and laughing as those two Spanish brothers shout at each other from across the street."

Both Harold and Igor chuckled thinking about the identical looking Spanish brothers that owned a restaurant and a bar opposite from one another. Two middle aged men that were near-perfect embodiments of gentlemen Spaniards from a time passed by. Black, slick hair pulled back as if they just resurfaced from the sea, always shining. Thick, dark mustaches that engulfed their upper lips. Stretching out the buttons on their neat, collared shirts what can only be described as glorious beer bellies, no doubt earned by a near infinite number of morning beers. Igor pulled out the last cigarette from his Parliament pack and lit it as he walked away. Harold stood in silence, staring after Igor as his friend headed back home to voluntarily sign up for the military.

Three months later, Harold sat alone in a bar in the center of Madrid. On the table in front of him were two large beers. One full, untouched. The other half-empty. He observed the two elderly Spanish gentlemen shout at each other from across the street as waiters scrambled from the bar to the restaurant and back. But he didn't smile. He couldn't. Hands shaky, he pulled out his first cigarette ever from the Parliament pack as he stared down at the same pile of cards from the train wondering how the game would have ended. A pile of 50 cards and

"I'll tell you who won - for 2 cold ones"

written in a thick black marker over the two jokers.