Saturday, September 5th, 2020

The server warns me about the shakshuka, in English, as she puts the tray on my table: “This is boiling. Literally.” It is. Bubbles rise and burst at the moonlike tomato-red surface. She looks over at the package I have set on the table. It still holds the book that I received yesterday. “You order from them? Me, too. All the time.” We talk briefly. She’s from New York, but says that she’s been here a long time. I tell her that I’ve only been here for three years. She nods. “You’ll catch on.” The Sabbath cafe is out of the coffee granita that I had ordered. She asks if I’d like an iced latte instead. Sure. When she leaves, I see that the tray with the sizzling skillet and the rest of my meal is on the other side of the table. I debate whether to just sit on that side. I decide against it. I reach over to the tray and slide it carefully over to where I am, maneuvering around the coffee and the items at the center. It takes a while, but I get it to where I need it. I’m not all that annoyed at the server. I would have been terrified just carrying the tray from the kitchen to the patio. When I’m done eating, I put my mask back on. She sees me and comes over. “Need the check? You can give me your card now, and I can run it.” No problem. When she returns with the receipt, though, I see that there’s a glitch. They charged me for the latte but didn’t cancel the granita. I call her over and show her. She sees what has happened and takes my card again. After a few minutes, she brings it back. “OK, we canceled the granita from the charge. Sorry.” That’s OK. I stand, pick up the book, and reach in my pocket for my mask. It isn’t there. I worry for a moment. Looking down toward the table, I see a blur of white and blue at the bridge of my nose. Right. I’m already wearing it. I put my headphones on, fire up my phone, and wander on.