Wednesday, September 19, 2018

The city streets have little powered traffic tonight: no buses, no taxis, a very few electric bikes. The occasional car creeps along apologetically, perhaps late coming home from being elsewhere during the day. On Yom Kippur night, some people go to worship, but everyone seems to be outdoors, walking or riding, on foot or on foot-powered bicycles, rollerblades, and skateboards. Children and their families walk down the middle of the street, clustering on or around traffic circles. One girl, perhaps three years old, putters along, low to the ground, on a plastic tricycle. Looking in front of and behind her, I don't see any obvious parents, but everyone is looking out for everybody else. I text a friend who is also out walking, but we don't meet up. I am heading toward the crowds and noise. She is avoiding them. I sit for a while at the heart of the city. The streets sound like a playground. All the shops are closed, even those open on the Sabbath. I see people sitting on the patio of a cafe, but they're hanging out, not eating. Some sit on tables. Some have tracked down chairs. On a swing at the corner, in a street lamp's spotlight, two young women embrace.