Wednesday, August 12th, 2020

Another day. Another burger. I don’t eat them often at home, but I had stashed away a package of eight in the freezer. They’re good, and filling enough that one of them in a small pita, plus a green pepper and a peach, is enough for dinner. My landlady brings my groceries in the early afternoon. A relative brings the bag of coffee in the evening. I have to give walking directions on how to get here. We both pick up our packages from the same shop. I’m not far from there. The biggest problem: I’m hopeless on right and left. Describing the turns on the phone, I have to wave the appropriate hand in the air and figure out, each time, which word applies. It’s no easier in English than in Hebrew. When he’s almost here, I realize that I haven’t put the outside light on. I sprint across the apartment and hit the switch. I see him through the small open window at the top of my steps. We talk for a moment. He leaves the coffee outside. I pick it up when he’s gone. I wait a bit longer to turn the light back off. Time to make the coffee. I set it up. It’ll steep overnight in the cold brewer and be ready for morning. At least, on my last day in isolation, I’ll have an incentive to wake up.