Friday, June 12, 2020

The arch of balloons, red, white, and black, rises from wooden stanchions, a couple of meters from the counter at the mall cafe. It looks like a random decoration at first. After a moment, I realize that it guides the line of customers. I stand beneath it until the previous person is done. When I reach the counter, I order my usual Israeli Breakfast. I do OK until the worker asks “Anything in addition?” This puts me off balance. I’m usually asked that later in the process. I ask her for a large iced coffee. She frowns. “You speak English?” I nod. She continues in English. “You can have tuna, soft cheese, and avocado, or tuna, soft cheese, and Bulgarian cheese.” That’s a change. It explains why I was served the salty Bulgarian cheese rather than avocado last time. I ask for avocado. We get through the rest of the order quickly. She asks for my name. I tell her. “Oh! I recognize you now.” We had last seen each other before the masks. On the bus heading back from the mall, the radio segues from Nico’s “These Days” to something from the Jackson Five. The DJ yells “Sixties! Sixties! Sixties” -- “Shishim! Shishim! Shishim!” We pass murals that say “The City of Culture” and “The City of Freedom.” In Hebrew, “Culture” and “Freedom” rhyme. A man across the aisle from me yells at the driver. The bus has picked up and dropped off a passenger at stops that this line doesn’t officially use. The driver ignores him. I hop off at the Heart of the City and get my usual challah and produce, as well as a salt shaker for spices. It’s still early, but I have little else to do. It’s too hot to sit around outside. I walk home.