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Anonymous Building


Anonymous Building

In the ladies restroom in the Pua restaurant, among the rest of decor, one can find this picture hanging. Yesterday I looked at it and thought about its special chic, about the important moment in the lives of the boys which meets a moment in the life of the viewer, I got carried away with interpretations about whether we’re dealing with anonymous intimacy or intimate anonymity, I was rapidly becoming a petty snobbish freelance culture critic, when suddenly my eyes rested upon the ugly building at the back and I thought, anoymous might not be the appropriate word, well, I’ll be damned. In that building, on the 11th floor, I went to sleep every night for half a year during my army service as a nature tour guide for school kids. My brain, which was still young and soft and flexible and excited, was convinced that if I convince the other tour guides to sit at night on the porch long enough we would eventually see UFOs passing in the skies of Tel Aviv. Next to the elevator there was a deep shaft and we threw all our garbage and it landed in the second floor, or maybe on Mars. In the kitchen there were colorful cracked ceramic cups, inherited from previous tour guides, which made the flat exceptionally awesome. One night Ya’ara’s boyfriend came to visit her and she told him she liked the smell of his shirt and sniffed in the smell of the sweaty army clothing. A few years later wonderful and groovy Ya’ara died in tragic medical circumstances and she was the last person in the to world speak about in her absence. Apart from that and apart from a few other detached moments and fragmented corridors I don’t remember much from the apartment in the building that appears in the picture that is hung in the ladies restroom of the Pua restaurant in the Jaffa flee market. For any other person it’s an anonymous, non intimate building, an ugly background to the faces of the boys.

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