I relish in this free trip to Saint Petersburg and dream of the one thing I have not seen in a decade — snow. The old man, trapped in a fragile old shell that keeps cracking, is outnumbered by his kin in his own home. Me: The guy with the grey hair in a ponytail and the long pinky fingernail? He comes by our place unannounced and without knocking armed with a plate of homemade stuffed grape vines as a peace offering. If so they would deliver it free of charge. Ach, to be a native; and speak in the ancient, native tongue of the Hebrews lapped up in the overcrowded, unruly classrooms of Holon and refined in the cacophonous mess halls of the IDF. She stands on her merpeset , smoking a cigarette and he rushes downstairs to put another coat of wax on his vehicular pride and joy — a Volvo that receives better care than Holocaust survivors do from the government. He also drives a cab for Gettaxi.
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