23

i've decided, starting with my last post, to make the titles of these next few simply numbers.  although, the headline is often the most important aspect of writing web content as it must serve as that tool which grabs the readers attention and impels them to move on down to the next sentence...well, let's see what happens.

aida shoma moborak!

another night in gregs.  i had to pass and push through masses of people protesting in the streets to get up here.  it's an odd feeling for sure.  and yet here i am with my melon tea, and with miles davis playing over the loud speaker.

i stepped out of my flat, just missing bus 23 (there it is!  that's why i was thinking about it.) i stopped to let women, men and children file past me with banners, posters and scarfs waving madly in the air.  a collective call and response echoed from the intersection of ben gurion and hagefen.  brows were furrowed, shoulders were hunched and i responded by popping in my ear plugs and putting my ipod on to norah jones.  fight hate with love.  swimming upstream, burly men with much too serious expressions walked on.  one arm swinging, rhythmically matching their pounding steps - the other, resting solidly on their sons' shoulder.  the boys had the job of holding the banners.  many looked as if they had interrupted a falafel or shwarma dinner to join in the fray as they walked with almost empty wrappers which were promptly thrown to the ground.

i hate the litter.  protest as much as you want...but please, do it in a cleanly manner.

finally past hatzionut, i wound my way to the carmelite.  small groups of huddled arab men and boys clustered about.  every 15 feet someone would point, heads would turn and i would look down to turn up the volume for "breathless" by corinne bailey rae, give them a quick glance and then move on.

i've ridden the carmelite for almost three nights in a row.  the same security guard has greeted me each time.  he is the only other person in all of haifa, and i dare say the world, that knows as intimately as me the inner contents of my backpack.  skipping down the steps, i made it to the landing platform, found a seat  and pulled out my magazine that had a feature article concerning haifa and the recent Ministry push to improve the air quality of the city - haifa has the largest oil refiners in all of israel.  they glow incandescently in the north.

a blonde israeli girl, smelling of alcohol came and sat next to me as the train approached.  i rose, she rose.  i stepped to the train as it stopped, she stood in front of me.  there is a button that you have to push to activate the door to open.  the train had stopped, but she just stood there wavering, not lifting a finger.  i stepped to the aside, pressed a calloused finger to the button and quickly sidled inside so that i could find a single seat somewhere secluded...i don't trust drunk people.

gregs is the same.  except for the slight rearrangement of the couches.  i've taken them completely over with my backpack and computer.  a gaggle of girls are now sitting behind me discussing ricky martin.  "isn't he gay!" apparently he's getting married.

i wish the gang would get here.  i'm almost done with my melon tea.