And The Whores Like A Choir

I’m 19. Or 20.

I’m home for the weekend, from the navy.

All I want to do is forget about the navy.

All I want to do is not go back to the base on Sunday.

Don’t want to smell the diesel polluting the sea.

Let the weekend last forever.

It’s Friday.

We’re at the “Second City” (Ha’ir HaShnia).

Me and my buddy Shai.

We’re regulars.

It’s our get-away.

From the uniforms.

From the order.

The discipline.

“Citizens” (Toshavim) of the City, Haifa’s most famous alternative music club.

Sometimes Yoav joins us, sometimes it’s me and the guys from the boat.

We’re together, but each dancing in different places.

Usually as close to the speakers as we can get.

And we can never get close enough.

We’re sipping our big, half liter bottles of Goldstar.

We’ve just spent 5 minutes banging our heads to Rage Against the Machine.


But now we’re chilling to the smooth sounds of The The.

And when Nirvana finish sniffing their teen spirit, we suddenly hear Frank Black, calling out to us:


The Pixies are coming, The Pixies are coming!

I’ll be there.

And if I’m not – then I must have lost my



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