Alberto did something to displease a Russian customer, who, as a sort of warning, mimed slitting his throat.
Maybe everyone thinks it’s his costume for Purim, a Bacon painting of a Screaming Pope.
He sends me an email, ‘Since im back idont find myself here and cant wait to be back there.’ I know what he means.
An elderly Dutch woman stops to talk to me. She has lived here and in London, but prefers Rotterdam now. She hates Tel Aviv. She wouldn’t have moved here if she’d been me. It’s too hot, for one, and there are too many bikes.
Nathan pretends to look serious and says, ‘We can talk about politics, if you want,’ and laughs, then repeats himself. We stop talking about Eurovision.