She's an American dating an Israeli, and she doesn't know what to make of his parents. They aren't mean to her, in fact they seem to like her, they're just... I get it. They're thoroughly Israeli. I sit with her for a while and try to help her understand.
Do I miss him? (Not really.) Should I? (Emotions aren't obligatory.)
By the bay there's a row of abandoned houses. Sand has crept in through the cracks in the boarded up windows. Each door has grown a wild beard of leaves.
There's a thick smell of paint in the corridor, and the light is cloudy with dust.
I'm not a beach person; when I take time off, I probably won't be sitting on a beach for hours. But I love the smell of sunscreen. I love the feel of sea water curling around my ankles.
They're not looking to learn, just hoping to become more certain of what they think they already know.
She's hoarse, her throat sanded away by a weeks-long cold.