Friday, February 5th, 2021

The package on the counter at the sandwich shop is labeled “Grandma’s Hair.” I pick it up and take a closer look. It’s cotton candy. The bottle of ouzo behind the glass has more in it than last week. Either they’ve added in the contents of the other bottle or it’s a fresh bottle of the same brand. The worker is sitting under a canopy with friends, drinking from paper coffee cups. He trots back into the shop when he sees me enter. I’ve already had most of my lunch. I got a sandwich and an espresso at the cheap coffee chain in the Heart of the City. The sandwich was labeled “bagel toast” but it doesn’t resemble what Americans would call either a bagel or toast. It’s a large, round seeded bun with cheese and other things inside. The worker puts it in a press and heats it for a few minutes. I drink the espresso while I wait, lifting my mask to sip from it. I put the sandwich, in its paper wrapper, in the bag with my groceries. I stop at the bakery to get a challah. The vat of grape leaves is there again. I still have some left from last week, so I don’t get more. The ones I’ve had are wonderful, though, sweet and solid, without the edge of bitterness that I sometimes taste in the leaves. At the shop with the cotton candy, I get the sahlab. It’s as good as before, too dense to drink. I sit at a chess table and eat it slowly with a spoon. Most of the men are gone from the Friday backgammon session. Only the two players remain, staring at the board and drinking Tuborg. The clothing stores here on the city square are closed. The hummus joint is open. The coffee shops are serving people, but everything’s to go. Officially, things should change when the lockdown ends on Sunday. I suspect that they won’t. Everything will look the same as it does now.