The guy in front of me loaded a magazine into his M16, and I did the same. The officer raised his fist and gave the go ahead. The front man kicked the front door open with all of his adrenaline, and we took up positions in the living room. The officer then oddly stood up, turned on the lights and said,
"Jesse your mom's on the phone..."
My eyes winced open and the sun peaked its face over the hills and evasively through the spot between the curtain and the wall. The sun is hot even through the window, so I scoot my head over to the right of the pillow and lay there in an awkward position for a while. I review the dream for a moment and roll over on my stomach, reach over and check my cellphone. I've been sweating and this morning I want a real coffee; not the usual Nescafe' so I slide on some shorts, flip flops, my hat and my sunglasses. I grab a 20 sheckle bill, and walk out into the hallway of my studio flat. The stairway echos with each step and rattle of the pockets, and I make my way into the public sphere where various minds mingle and escape their living boxes...
The moment I reach the sidewalk, beads of sweat form on my forehead and it reminds me of my first BB-gun that I saved up for with my allowance money, only to find that there are only so many times one can be entertained by putting holes in a water bottle. My flip flops smacked my heels in rhythm, my feet carrying me along like a slave ship, similarly full of holes, I'm leaking. This heat is surreal.
I walk past the bus station where people of all kinds wait to be moved. A drunk is passed out in the shade of an overhang, and heads pass by without paying him any change or any mind. I put 5 sheckles on the ground next to him, which I am sure, will go toward his next mind numbing session of alcohol consumption. I don't blame him.
I make my way up Ben Gurion St. toward Espresso bar and the smell of the falafel stand permeates the air, and the thought of eating fried chick beans before my coffee makes my stomach churn a bit. The guy at the bakery attempts to stop me in my path to sell me rugulach... get fucked. All I want is a coffee to-go, without being disturbed, apparently too much to ask on a summer afternoon in the Middle East. The baker, who feeds his children by feeding the public, has obviously not spent enough time with my grandmother, who could make me eat by shooting a single look. I always did, and I was always grateful.
I approach espresso bar and walk inside and order a take-away cappuccino, and just as I turn to leave, I reach into my pocket and look at my cellphone. I scroll through my phone book, until I reach the S's and stare at Simona's highlighted name for a moment, and with a touch of uncertainty, I push the green button...
"Hello?"
"Hey... you feel like talking over a coffee?"
"I would love to."
So I take a seat, and the drum stops while the slaves rest.
You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.
-Gandhi
