Monday, March 1st, 2021

A line of white-haired men waits outside the transit pass storefront in the early morning. It’s the first of the month, and time for them to get new monthly passes. I’m on my way to work. I decide to come back yet again in the evening. The owner of the sandwich shop on the city square sits in a tent across from it, along with about eight other people. Nothing is going on. They’re just sitting. Outside the bakery, a man with an amplified tenor recorder plays “My Way” with a karaoke backing. The manager of the burger joint rolls a shopping cart filled with gallon jars of pickle slices toward his shop. After work, on the bus back to the Heart of the City, I find that my transit pass is completely empty. The driver waves me on anyway. I stop at the ATM when I get off the bus. If the network at the shop is still down, I'll be ready. When I get back to the storefront, no one is waiting. I pay cash. I also put another fifty shekels on the card. If I don’t renew the monthly pass in time in the future, I can still pay for rides. For another five shekels, I buy a doohickey that can read the card and recharge it from my computer. The worker asks me something. I don’t understand. She tries again, more simply. “Do you know how to connect this? It’s USB.” I think I can handle that. I now have all the transit bases covered, just in case.