Thursday, September 17th, 2020

The whiteboard at the ice cream shop shows unexpected combinations: “Figues & Roses,” “Peach with Amber” (though I may have read the last word wrong), “Oasis Bananas & Dates.” The card for their strawberry sherbet suggests “Try it with pepper on top!”. I’m here for the cinnamon affogato. It’s as good as it was when I had it before, two days short of a year ago. I’ve taken the day off from work to get some things done before the lockdown. Most of the shopping has been for naught, but it’s good to relax. This cobblestone street has changed since then. More shops are empty. More buildings are being renovated. Fewer tourists go by, though I still hear conversations in English. Four scooters roar past together, each with a cooler from a different delivery service. Two tiny girls in tights and tutus try to pilot a foot-powered scooter together. They fall off, but they don’t fall hard. They get right back on. A large man in a black hat and white beard ambles up behind a party at the coffee shop two doors down and blows a shofar. The people look neither inspired nor amused. Five young people emerge from behind an ornately carved door across the street. Were it anywhere else, I would assume that the building was a synagogue. A large Star of David is centered at the top of the carving. One panel near the bottom appears to have been kicked out. One of the women is saying to one of the men, in English: “You know her. She’s my roommate. You’ve been in her bedroom.” My phone buzzes with a text from work. They’re having a ritual “raising of the glass” in the afternoon, ahead of the New Year. For those of us who aren’t in the office, there’s a Google Meet link. I think of connecting to it, but forget until afterward. When I’ve finished the affogato, I put the paper cup in a metal trash bucket on the table. I put on my mask, and walk around some more, taking photos. Later on, I’ll want to double-check my memory.