i just start laughing out loud randomly.
a bus running over construction. a sign translated poorly.
on an industrial side of town i looked past the railing at Ramot, at perfect hills over a non perfect city; a non perfect country for a non perfect people. can’t get a driver’s license because the office is on strike. “yehudi lo yigaresh yehudi”.
aval ma l’asot?
yehiye tov, yehiye tov.
i can get a degree in conflict resolution and i can build a family i never had and i can love and be loved and i can be buried here, on perfect hills over a non perfect land, with my non perfect people, in perfect eternity.