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Not exactly a stain but a kind of sticky patch caked with dirt. The bald guy brings me a prayer book and a white yarmulke with golden embroidery. I want to fuck, but I also want to be a good person. But I also can’t leave the cow-eyed bald guy. Splitting off from Yogev and staying on my own in the middle of Allenby, high as a kite, seems like a bad idea. Yogev shakes his head and walks away, toward the sea. To me, in my state, it looks like he’s about to cry. He looks at me with his enormous eyes-the eyes of a cow the second before it’s slaughtered. The bald guy comes close and puts his hand on my shoulder. “And what makes you think I’d help you jump your car if you got stuck?” It’s like if my car got stuck and you helped me jump it.” “You don’t have to be religious,” the bald guy insists. At first, he thought the bald guy was a bum, and now he’s confused. “Do a mitzvah, guys, make up the minyan for us.” “If we don’t get ten men for the minyan, it won’t work,” the bald guy says with a sigh, like the prayers are a cell phone that has to be charged with the right cable.
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And now the sun’s setting and they’re short one man for a quorum.
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So they call his cell phone and his son answers: Sasson’s in the hospital. Sixteen years the man hasn’t missed a service. Tells us about some eighty-year-old dude called Sasson, who comes every day for evening prayers and on Saturday mornings, too. “Not a penny on us,” Yogev lies, but the bald guy keeps talking. I try to keep up.īy the Great Synagogue, a bald guy with a big black yarmulke stops us and mumbles something about a mitzvah. Yogev turns seaward, moving fast: every second we waste on Allenby Street is a second with no hot tourist. A bendy bus honks and almost runs me over. The colors of the cars and the traffic lights get all mixed up in my head, but in a good way. A minute later, he comes out, sweating, and says, “Let’s go.” Like someone threw a brick in the toilet. Through the thumping bass line, I hear Yogev hollering in the bathroom like he’s trying to lift a two-hundred-pound weight. “Put some music on,” Yogev says, but his brother doesn’t budge, just keeps looking at the model moving her lips and being careful not to smear her mascara when she wipes a tear from her eye. Like Yogev, I’m not feeling the Molly yet. She talks a lot, but we can’t hear what she’s saying, because the TV’s on mute. On the fashion network, a flat-chested but pretty model is being interviewed. I keep sitting there without saying anything. “Scared you’ll lose your high before you get downstairs? This is primo shit.
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“What’s with the stick up your ass?” Yogev’s lizard brother asks me, flicking his forty-inch TV on to the fashion network. Even when there is, it’s scratchy, it doesn’t breathe, like those napkins you get at a hummus joint next to a gas station. The bathrooms at the beach are all wet and stinky and there’s never any paper. And the last thing he wants is for the urge to come when he’s out. “It’s not gonna happen until I take a dump,” he says. The stuff goes to his head only after he drops a load.
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We said we’d go to the beach to find girls.” Yogev doesn’t move. “We paid, we swallowed, let’s get the fuck out of here. “Let’s go,” I tell Yogev for the second time. From the joy, from the high, from both.Įtgar Keret on writing as anger management. She was so happy, she had tears streaming down her face. Fucked up, but cute.” They spent the whole night going at it in his brother’s apartment. The Norwegian chick laughed and said, “You’re cute. But, if he cheaps out and all I get is one, then it’s just going down on you.” Then he looked up at the clouds, like some dipshit, like he really was waiting for God to appear. If I get a third, I might go for peace in the Middle East-throw a bone to my country. If he says, ‘You can have another one,’ I’ll ask for eternal life. “If God appears on Earth right now and grants me one wish, I’ll ask him for ten minutes to go down on you. But the Molly made Yogev feel powerful, like a superhero. Normally, he wouldn’t have the balls to talk to a girl like that, especially not in English. He did it with his brother once-got lit and went down to the promenade and came home with a Norwegian tourist. “We bought it, we popped it, now it’s beach time.” Yogev’s plan is to get high and go pick up girls on the beach.