That night I dreamt that I was a forty-year old woman, and my husband was a retired colonel. He was running a community center in a poor neighborhood, and his social skills were shit.
The instructor, who was supposed to be this well-known writer, even though Aviad had never heard of him, told her that there was something soul-piercing about the banality of the ending, or some other piece of crap. Aviad saw how happy that compliment made Maya.
This last sentence was all Avichai needed to take the outstretched hand and shake it.
'I'm sorry,' he went on, turning paler, 'I must have bitten you. You know, in the heat of passion.' 'Never -ind,' she smiled at him, the ice cube to her lower lip, 'no-ing ha-ened.' Which was a lie, of course. Because some-ing had ha-ened.
At Amazon HQ
Keret reads "What Do We Have in Our Pockets?"