So there was no traditional nap. Some nasty guy kept ringing our bell until we gave up trying to sleep. Why would someone try to get us to do something (especially something that relates to his money) by waking up us on a Friday afternoon? No call – no invititation – just a leaning on the bell. Grrrr.
But we went to the party anyway, and I tranced for a while in the steam room that is Tel Aviv nowadays. Despite the complaints from my contemporaries about the volume and the monotony, I find the idea of trance so much in tune with the philistine nature of this city, that it is impossible to stop. Afterward I was, of course, dripping wet, but very much at home.
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