Monday, September 28th, 2020

The city sits silently. It was full of bicycles last year and the year before. On this one day of the year, there are no cars, trucks, or motorcycles. People can walk down the center of the street if they want to. Most keep to the sidewalks. At intersections, even those walking on the asphalt obey the traffic lights. It's hot. Air conditioners drip on me as I walk in the shadows. They’re a relief. All the shops are closed, even the 24/7 market and the small sweets shop where men sit every other day of the year, drinking Turkish coffee and chatting in what sounds like Arabic. The glass door of a bistro bar has been smashed in. It looks like an accident. The few people who walk past shake their heads and walk on. I don’t think anything has been taken. The police or owners may do something after dark, when the holiday ends. In the city square, a cadre of young girls rolls past me on scooters, wearing pink crash helmets. Other than them, I only see one or two children on each block. I sit and try to write on my phone. I have to change locations every few minutes. The flies quickly find me and regroup. At the bus stop at the center of town, moving text on an electric sign announces that buses will start running again at 9 PM. The fan inside the sign is shockingly loud. I’d never heard it before. A poster hastily pasted on several storefronts shows a picture of the Prime Minister and two large words: "The lockdown is because of me." An asterisk beside the words leads to a smaller word at the bottom: "satire." The doors to the Grand Synagogue are open. A few men pray inside, in the afternoon gap between services. More may gather toward dusk, indoors or outside. Or they may not. I've lost track of the rules. I'm not going to sit here much longer to find out. There are too many flies.