Saturday, January 30th, 2021

Few other people are in the city square. It’s late. The street lights have come on. I recognize many of the people who pass me: the father with two young girls, one on a scooter, one on a bike; the woman from the Sabbath cafe, huddled in a puffy coat against what she feels as cold; the much older woman, pulling a cart from one trash bin to the next, collecting bottles to redeem. I’m sitting at a chess table, reading a book on postmodern dance. On the way here, I stopped at a small food store that is open on the Sabbath. I’m eating Bamba with caramel filling and drinking a small cappuccino. I notice two purple tags stuck to the table. I realize that I’m at the same table at which I sat yesterday. A man on a bench far from me is speaking loudly in English on his phone. He’s trying to make some sort of business deal. He stops frequently and repeats more slowly what he has just said. My phone beeps to tell me that the Sabbath will be over in ten minutes. I close my eyes for a moment to rest them from reading in the now-dim light, pack up and discard my trash, and go home.