Spit of the Dark Knight
In the last two weeks, I've endured three setbacks: a painful failure, a small manuscript rejection and a tiny bit of writer's block, all of which were spiced with a tingling self-hatred and a hint of insomnia. While descending, my self-confidence met my bank balance, and they plunged hand in hand. I asked them to text me upon arrival.
But I'm not worried about my financial pressure, it's big enough to worry for itself, nor about some rejections, there are many more words in my sack. I raised my head, put on some lipstick and went to the flea market.
What can I say, flea markets put me in a good mood. Seeing people struggling for their economy and displaying their trinkets by value, flipping through antiques and unwanted goods, discovering hidden treasures and haggling over them surrounded by unconscious social closeness - all of these bring joy to my heart. What more could I ask for.
As we browsed, I met two friendly traders who treated me to a glass of wine and gave me an old 100 Shekel coin as a gift because "you are just so lovely." How exciting, only 19 more of them, and I'll have a hundred new Shekels. Furthermore, I was delighted by their question, "Where are you serving?" here, we serve in the army from the end of high-school until 20-21. Out of flattery, I think I melted, but I'm not sure. Everything went blurry.
T walked around and found a coffee cup's warmer for me. Yes, I drink slowly and always complain that my coffee has cooled down, but I didn't need it for myself, but for my silversmithing.
I also bought a Polaroid camera. I've always loved them. The trader had no film, so he sent me to Allenby Street, "There you will find film. Ask the seller there how much cameras like this usually cost, and you'll see what an amazing deal you've got. New out of the box."
Well, the store he sent me to closed a few years ago, about the same time this camera was probably first used. Later, T checked the price on eBay, and it turned out that even after bargaining, I bought it at twice the price it's worth. Good job, Moriah.
Speaking of T, he hadn't experienced many Purim holidays in the Holy Land. Purim is a Jewish holiday that is all about being happy, for our people were saved from the bad guys once again. Everyone gets dressed in different costumes, and getting drunk is a must. In London, this holiday is always grey-weathered and, well, doesn't really exist. So after that, we went down to the Carmel market. We stopped for a beer on the way, looking at the costumed people. The streets were bustling, but the Carmel Market ate them alive.
There were vast amounts of pirates, fairies, superheroes, emperors, princesses, animals, cartoon characters and pokemons. They danced side by side in slippers, black curls falling down on shoulders, sweat dripping on naked chests. The music was typical party trash, but the crowd jumped and cheered and danced densely.
As we made our way through the crowd, a Batman walking in front of me nickered a low, breathy whinny between his lips. Batman's mask was not designed for epidemics, and he splattered spit all over my face. Superheroes. They solve everything with violence.
We finished at the fish-and-chips stand, arriving just as the chips ran out, and received fish-and-some-more-fish.
"What a pleasure to celebrate Purim. I've missed this." Said T when we got home.
"Yes, sweetheart," I said as I scrubbed my face with water and soap, spraying disinfectant everywhere, "congestion, viral spitting and fish-and-chips without chips - that's what Purim and the Book of Esther are all about. Pass me the wipes, please."
