Friday, December 11th, 2020

Six men huddle around a backgammon board on a stone table in the city square. What hair each still has is white. Those who are watching wear masks. The two who are playing are smoking cigars. I can’t see the board clearly. It wouldn’t matter if I could. I can never remember how the game works. A block away, several men stand on the steps of the Great Synagogue. They are worshiping individually, holding prayer books from a table at the top of the stairs. The doors to the synagogue are closed, but they are still facing in the proper direction. To their right, someone is moving slowly. either putting up or taking down posters from a board on the wall. The pharmacy on the far side of the bus station has the prescriptions that they couldn’t fill when I was there last. No one else is in line when I go to the window. As I approach, a woman barges up and asks if they have a particular item. She is desperate. No shop seems to have it, and she needs it before the Sabbath. I step aside. This shop doesn’t have it either. The pharmacist rings me up quickly then starts to help the woman find it elsewhere. On my way out, I see that they have standard surgical masks in a stylish black. I’m out of the purple ones and tired of the blue. The cashier tells me that they just came in, and that they look good. I get a pack of them. I head back up the far side of the street. A shop that I hadn’t seen before sells tempting devices for making coffee. I go in and look around but don’t get anything. Further up, I get clementines, persimmons, baking pans, challah, a single donut, and a sabich and soda for lunch. I sit down with them on a bench back in the city square. The same men are playing the same game at the table. I watch them and the cats, and listen to the birds and traffic, as I eat.