Friday, May 8, 2020

The coffee shop with the excellent burekas also has masks for sale. I go in and ask about them. We start off in Hebrew. I use the wrong plural form for “masks,” masculine rather than feminine. The worker corrects me and switches to English. They are just what I want: fifty surgical masks with comfortable elastic ear pieces for one hundred shekels, less than sixty US cents each. A lot of people on the street today are wearing stylish black masks. Many have a Nike logo. I have no idea where they get them. Downtown is busy. Most shops have lines outside. They have to limit the number of people who can come in. At the produce shop, I see leafy greens that I don’t recognize. Their stalks come together at a common base. I snap off enough to fill a small bag. As I detach the last one, I see a head of cauliflower at the center. I don’t care for cauliflower. I bring the bag of stalks to the register, as well as sweet potatoes and loquats. The cashier asks if I really want just the greens. I do. I plan to saute them. She doesn’t charge me for them. My favorite shawarma joint doesn’t have a line. The owner rests against the refrigerator. His eyes are closed. He snaps to attention when I say hello. I get a falafel there and a granita from the cheap coffee chain. I sit down to eat them on a bench away from the crowd, across from where I got the masks. Children roll past on bikes and scooters. A group of three boys and a girl circle around four times before they head into the toy store. They leave their bicycles by the door, inside the gates. A large german shepherd rests next to a baby carriage. A cat wanders over and stretches out by its side. They watch two pigeons nearby peck at a piece of bread. I watch them too. It’s still early in the afternoon. None of us have to be anywhere else.