Sunday, August 5, 2018 9:34 AM

The streets downtown are quiet, even for a Sabbath afternoon. It's hot, but not as hot as it usually gets in August: we're in the high eighties Fahrenheit, the low thirties Celsius. My taxi rolls past sights I hadn't noticed before: election posters, a For Rent sign atop a mixed-use building, a red banner as wide as the street announcing the entrance to a kibbutz. A topiary at a traffic circle, previously cryptic, has been trimmed to reveal a symmetrical pair of swans. The mayor, up for re-election, has focused on making the city beautiful. Many wish that he would put more energy and funds into needed infrastructure. More people are outside at the beach: women in shorts and sundresses, men with or without shirts, and religious families with long sleeves and skirts designed to cover them yet keep them cool. I arrive at work and head down to my basement office. Deep inside, we can no longer tell the weather, the time of day, or, except for the consistent gravity, exactly which planet we're on.