Tuesday, January 12th, 2021

The tag in one of the bins of gelato is wrong. In Hebrew, it correctly shows the contents as strawberry sherbet. In English, it says “Dulce de Leche.” The bin behind it really is dulce de leche and has been tagged correctly. Perhaps the person making the tags got lost in the list of flavors. They also might not have known what flavor dulce de leche really is, or what it means in whatever language that is. I’m not sure if it’s Spanish, Italian, or something else. I spot the tag as I stand outside the shop waiting for a sahlab. Officially, they shouldn’t be serving people, but, even with the tighter lockdown, standing outside seems OK. I think of telling the worker that the sign is wrong, but there’s little point to it. I don’t know how I’d tell him, and he probably wouldn’t be able to fix it. He’s on the phone, anyway. He can’t find one of the ingredients and is asking someone else where it is. When I get the sahlab, I sit on my usual bench. People drift past me and around the plaza. A young girl in a yellow dress runs back and forth under the roof over the chairs. Occasionally, she jumps in the air and stomps down on one of the colored lights set in the ground. A man in a torn parka walks along the curb, shrieking quietly every few seconds. A delivery person stops his scooter and calls a name. A man dressed in traditional black and white, with a matching black and white mask, takes bags from the delivery person, walks to the plaza steps, and sits down with his family to eat. A teenager walks along another edge of the plaza as if on a tightrope. Halfway along, she loses her balance and starts to fall. She turns slightly, bends her knees, and launches herself into the air. She spins, lands safely, and bows. Her friends applaud. I finish my sahlab. I pick up the cup, spoon, and napkins, as well as the trash that had been on the bench when I got there. I put my mask back on and continue on home.