05 July 2009

Riding Through Tel Aviv

Kibbutz Life

Golan Hike

Scorpion Alert

If I Had a Dime for Every Time I Saw One of These

I was in the station bathroom while waiting for the bus to Jerusalem from Haifa this morning. I was at one end of sinks, which run under the entire length of the mirrored wall. Approaching the other end was a boy of no more than 18 years -- though his broad shoulders and chubby frame made it hard to tell. His getup was something to write home about.

He wore loose-hanging, bright pink shorts that dangled to his calves; something between gym shorts and capri pants. His shirt was a dirty, graphic tee, and on his feet were green Crocs and ankle socks. His brown hair was slicked back into a ponytail, tied off with a blue scrunchy the likes of which my sister would have worn in fifth grade.

In his left hand, gingerly, a lit cigarette.

The boy stood there for awhile, in front of the mirror, puffing on the cigarette, checking himself out. He played with his hair, taking care to put every strand in its rightful place behind his right ear. A step back and another once-over. Another suck on that cig. The bathroom was infused with the suffocating scent of smoke.

"W-ow," is all I could think. And I went on cleaning my sunglasses of a week's worth of dirt and sweat.
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