He sits back in his black, leather chair, makes a steeple with his fingers, and is definitely in charge, while I sit on the edge of my seat, lean forward and gibber like the monkey I really am.
We’re drunk and happy, and howl into the night, like wolves in the forest.
Israelis, in case you don’t know, aren’t great at customer relations.
Tim, infuriated by the sounds of a mother playing with her baby, who wouldn’t be, poured a glass of water onto them from his balcony.
I discover that doing nothing is more fun than having nothing to do
I ask if there’s anything that connects us, the new immigrants. ‘We didn’t fit in at home?’ says Megan, in that way that makes statements sound like questions.
It was like the movers hadn’t packed me, they’d archived me.