Friday, October 9th, 2020

The tiny pharmacy inside the Heart of the City is quiet and fast. There’s no need to take numbers. The lockdown only allows five customers inside at a time. A short line of people waits outside, where the doorway opens into the center of the mall. Many wear the black and white garb of the ultra-Orthodox. Others stand in flip-flops and jeans cut off so short that their pockets dangle beneath the edge of the denim. I only need to wait behind one other person. When I reach the counter, I hand my health plan ID and the empty box of what I need refilled to the pharmacist. He opens a drawer and pulls out another box. It costs fifteen shekels, less than five dollars. I pay, drop the box and receipt into my shopping bag, and leave. I get my challah at the usual bakery. Watching the workers, I figure out some of their rhythms. The two of them use a single register. One worker handles cash transactions. The other handles credit. The cash and cards move between them so quickly that, in other situations, I might expect a scam. At the produce shop, I look for leafy greens. I’m pleased to find kale. At the counter, the workers stand behind a sheet of clear plastic. That’s new. I get the kale and, on a whim, some sliced pineapple and a package of dates with walnuts inside. I know that if I bring snacks home I eat them too quickly. These, I can justify without too much guilt. Across the street, the cafe with the mystery sandwiches is open, though without seating. I see that they have homemade burekas for sale. The worker meets me at the doorway. I order a cheese burekas (the singular and plural is the same) and a large iced coffee. I step inside as he prepares it. I pay at the counter. “You have to stand outside now. I have to hand this to you there. It is now the law. Your coffee is on the counter. Don’t forget it.” I take the coffee and step outside. He comes around and reaches over a display. The burekas is on a plate, with a chopped egg and separately packaged sauces, neatly tied up in a red plastic bag. I will eat it when I get home. I am hot and thirsty and need the iced coffee right away. I sit on a low wall and take off my mask. I breathe in what I recognize as a thick cloud of pot smoke, though I don’t see anyone smoking nearby. That’s OK. In its presence, even the flies are calm.