So the Frank Sinatra cafeteria at Hebrew University in Jerusalem--the one I went to every day with friends--the one where all the international students hang out and drink cafe hafuch (upside down coffee) and eat chinese chicken stirfry...Where the chef's eyes rival old blue eyes himself and little Danny and I would joke how he looked like a sea captain.
Where my sisters used to go when they were at the university, giving the place a sense of history and inevitablity for me.
Where I sat with the overseas posse at the tables outside, comparing exclamatory sounds of our native languages (oof! offaah! ouch! ayi! ugh! yo! oy!).
Where I wrote my essays longhand. Where I would talk politics with the Argentinians. Where I sat the entirety of a rainy afternoon and read one hundred years of solitude. Where Eli swaggered in one afternoon wearing a blazer from Paris, and reeking of cologne and asked if I would be his girlfriend. Where Mia cried on my shoulderover Scary Barry. Where all of us sat before spilling into the ampitheatre that overlooked the Judean Dessert to hear a horrible rock band that we perversely cheered, prompting organizers to rebook them for the next event. It is all glass, all around. I would watch people come and go, my friends make faces against the glass. A terrorist bomb just went off there at lunch time. Seven people are dead.