Israeli Debris

I parked my Eldan, Hundai Getz Rent-a-car in the dirt lot laden with nails and other Israeli debris, shut off my engine, shoved the GPS into the glove box, grabbed my cane, and hobbled through what the administration has the balls to call a parking lot. What is supposedly the finest private learning institution that Israel has to offer has no interest in parking or any lots related. Fuck us, and fuck our tires. For the tuition paid, they should, at the very least, repair our flattened tires. The reality is that most of the shit all over the "parking lot" is there from an ingenious biblical holiday called Lag b'omer where the civil state allows people of all ages to light bonfires where ever they feel appropriate, while the fire fighters run around the country trying to control brush fires. I must admit, for the majority of these events I was intoxicated myself and probably taking part in fueling my own internal inferno, which at times, feels as though it could spark a brush fire all on its own, but maybe I'm giving myself too much credit.
I, to the best of my ability, attempted to avoid the gravel and rocks with my cane, and as I focused on this task, a small dog with an agenda sped by me, took the liberty of pissing on a bush, and still got to the gate before I did. Fuck it and the bush it pissed on.
After trudging through the parking lot for 40 years, I approached the guard gate, and as threatening as I may look, hunched over with a cane, he insists on seeing my student ID, so I lean my cane up against the wall, reach into my messenger bag, and fumble for the fucking special card that only special students at this special school, with it's shit parking lot, receive. I show it to the Russian security guard, he nods and waves me in. I grab my cane, say fuck you very much, which he clearly doesn't understand and this is confirmed by his genuine smile and blank eyes, so I smile right back and continue on the main street toward the cafeteria. Beautiful girls and dudes with aviator glasses litter the campus, and ,I stand out...the cripple with the black bag, and the black cane, and a few people stop me here and there to ask what happened. It's honestly more fun to leave that to their imaginations, so I do, and what they create is probably far more interesting than my own reality. I leave the "aught to's" to them and the "what is" remains my decision to be executed at a time I see fit, and until that time comes, people can bitch and complain about "what isn't" and I can continue to feel mysterious.
I turn left on the walkway that goes toward the Lauder School of Government, Strategy, and Diplomacy building; the structure in which I will spend the majority of the next 4 months, striving to complete the final 14 classes of my BA. I fuck with each glass door until I discover the one they decided to unlock that day, and make my way toward the elevator, and push the button with my cane. Upon entering the elevator, the first thing one sees is himself, and whether you want to or not, you have the next 15 seconds to scrutinize yourself so you look elevator exit appropriate. I walk out of the lift, the same way I walked in and take a seat in the back of room L316, pull out my laptop, plug it into the nearest outlet as my cane slides down the wall and crashes to the floor, making sure to hit the desk on the way down for extra effect. Naturally people jump to assist me, and the first thing that enters my mind makes me laugh. Uh, I can do it myself...
"Thanks, thank you, sorry..."
After the attention is drawn away, and the few pity smiles upon obligatory faces turn their heads, I open my laptop, start a new word document, and officially begin phase two of my reintegration into "what is," with a few words from a great mind about societal challenges, and pitiless smile from a very cute girl in the first row...