Cinema, South of Tel Aviv

As a young man, lonely and adrift, I often walked along Allenby Street, a street of evocative Proustian reminders of times gone by, with 1970s shop fronts, displays yellowed by the merciless sun, concrete scoured by the salty sea air, washed off like the enamel of teeth. Small shops selling Judaica, or second-hand English books that smelled of mould, a strange outlet of surprisingly hard-core pornography. Homesickness bit at my throat, the pain at times physical, under skies of ferocious blue. The air scented by pervasive falafel. At the centre of this world sat a large and partially derelict cinema, cavernous and concrete, a place of deserted mystery. This work is available at



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