Under a Dirty Moon by Avital Gad-Cykman

Nights here grow longer by the year. You go from one bar to another, and meet people you may have met in the last bar. It is hard to be sure. People appear along the night, in and out of many bars. The more you look at them the more familiar they seem.They could be new, though. You aim to meet strangers, and foreigners are the best. They will give you their addresses so you'll send them postcards for holidays they celebrate in another world. They will sit with their big families at a table full of food, in a room illuminated by soft yellow light. You will sit at your place at the end of a night in the city, and will have the same thoughts about strangers.

In this city, bars spring and shut down before you learn their names. Strangers and people who might be so sit on the stools and exchange secrets with the barman. They look experienced and wiser than you. They don't mind giving their address.It seems to amuse them.

Your postcard will enter their home, but you'll be on the other side of the door. It's almost better than being inside. You thrive in the longing.

You will stay here in this city, busy with its alleys, shops, and bars under a dirty moon.

People with beers in their hands speak about a bar you can't afford to enter. Once, you looked at the bar through a window and planned to get in. Years later, it doesn't mean all you thought it would.

You go to work tired from the night before another night that stretches ahead with promise. You save to discover what's inside the new bar. You'll go on and on, like you'll never die.

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¿¿Â¿ 2009 - Gad-Cykman


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