I want to buy your backpack. How much?
How much are you willing to pay?
I’m considering it. I need the money.
How much did you originally pay?
I’m trying to remember…
You don’t seem convinced.
I dunno, I like this backpack.
Yes, it’s green. I like green. Green is cool. And I travel a lot. So I want to buy it from you.
Green is cool. I’m sorry, but I think I want to keep it.
You know Chagall?
Yeah, of course.
Chagall said, everything has a price. So what’s your price?
I don’t know. 1,000?
Shekels! I’m not that crazy.
What’s your name?
Does it matter?
It doesn’t matter. I can just call you green backpack.
Where are you going?
Lots of places. But right now, towards the port.
Did you know that the port wasn’t even here 14, 15 years ago?
To our left is the ocean. We walk along the promenade, talking without pause. He asks me why I’m leaving. I tell him that I miss home, my family, my friends – it’s too much. I ask him what he’s doing here. I learn about his family, his political views, that time he tried vegetarianism, the fact he tried smoking when he was 13 and didn’t like it, his love of surfing, his time spent in Toronto. My Dad lives there, I tell him.
His parents are divorced. He’s close with both of them, but not in the same ways. We talk briefly about love, comparing the differences between the love one has for a mother and for a father.
It’s different. It’s true.
It ends all too soon, and just soon enough.
Maybe I’ll see you…
This was goodbye.