Rifles + boobs + sunglasses = kitsch

The electro neon, poodle parade. The perm-clad, lipgloss soldiers.

Guns.

Topless tanned muscular buzz cut alphas cunt around in a haze of sweat and repression.

Blue t-shirted man hops on the bus, casually snoops around giving a once over. Quick flip of the bin lid and he hops off. A nudge in the ribs,

"Security."

"What, checking for bombs?"

"Yes."

Never ending invitations to live (FOREVER!) in the holy land.

Then I'm told that even in the cultural capital busking is rare; socially filed alongside tramp/pimp. Musicians work 10-6 (pm-am) in bars to pay the rent and forget to make time for jams.

Thick air, heavy and still. The sweat sticks and no breeze relieves. The sun a punishing constant.

Shops invite with air conditioning. A cool, gathering of thoughts while the brain slows and the breathing begins. Gradual focussing on products and consumer work. Browsing.

"Oh, I can't afford anything, best leave."

The heat slaps hard, once again, in the neck.

Survey of ethnicity: mostly jewish. Few blacks. And a whole bunch in between.

Lazy surveyor.

From the bus: a man feeding a gang of cats by the road.

Hyper colour fruit and veg stalls bask in their own glory, screaming sweetness and juice.

Industrial units line the road out of town; billboards taped to them, display the usual offensive nonsense. "Dove. Does my bum look big/sizeably challenged in this?"

"Are freckles cool/ugly? THE DEBATE."

High rise blocks make host to visible wall-mounted beautiful/hideous air condition boxes. The debate rages.

Visit to a neighbour. Bleached blonde, middle aged and legs out. Surgically intact. All smiles and kisses and kneejerk invitations to join the country.

Israeli TV soap, viewed, rated and mentally dispensed with. All hot blondes, hot brunettes and some Don Corleone wannabe trying to recreate Footballers Wives and distracting me with perpetual jerky camera zooms. If I get a few virtual inches closer to this girl's face cake, I don't get any more dramatically involved. I just focus on the badly hidden zits.

Failed attempt to find that Dylan documentary on the Videos on Demand jobber. Half an hour or so spent flicking between ten second trailers for shit films, enough to make me spit phlegm and pick up my book ('The Corrections', still!) in disgust.

I retire to a shared bedroom. Co-inhabited with a currently nostalgic jew and an adorable stinky, small, deaf-blind, aged, yapper-type dog, Nachmi.

Go Israel!