Saturday, May 23, 2020

I haven’t been on this street in a year or so. I’m running an errand for my family. I lived here when I first moved to this city. I haven’t been to this neighborhood much since, though I’m often within a few blocks of it. Most of what I see is the same. There’s an endless array of effectively identical apartment houses, built as if inattentive giants dropped cinder blocks from above. The newest building is different enough that it stands out. When I lived nearby, the lot was a hole in the ground behind a fence. Another apartment house is there now. The facade for the ground floor is paneled with something that looks like dark wood. A driveway from the street descends to underground parking. The upper floors are the usual greyish-white stone. They haven’t yet developed the stains and weathering that mark its neighbors. They will, in time. I’m out earlier than usual on a Saturday morning. In the city square, seven women, my age or older, sit around a low table. They pour coffee from thermoses and eat snacks from open containers that they have put out. Some wear masks below their chins as they lean in close to one another and chat. Outside an open sweet shop, seven men sit in chairs and drink black coffee. They laugh and talk loudly in what sounds like Arabic. At the corner of the main street and the street where I lived, seven more men stand and talk. They are dressed for worship in suits and prayer shawls. They may be coming from the Sabbath morning service. They may even have prayed outdoors, near where they now stand. I wonder why each group that I passed has exactly seven members. If I were to make a film with them in it, I would have to either randomize those numbers or assign them some meaning. I arrive at my old apartment. I help in moving objects down from there to the street level. I manage to go up and down the four flights of stairs four times before my knees give out. Slightly after noon, I head home. More people are on the street. On the corner where the men in suits had stood, two boys chase each other around with squirt guns. I stop at the ice cream shop and get a cup of something good. Later on, I can’t remember what it was. I sit in the city square where the women had been, eat the ice cream, and fall asleep. My phone and wallet are secure, safe from pickpockets, though I’ve never knowingly seen any. When I awaken, I get up and walk home, where I fall asleep again.