Tel Aviv, London, Tel Aviv, London – who would you rather hang out with?

17 Oct

LONDON: The suave, sophisticated, possibly slightly older friend, who hangs out in expensive bars, but veers on the weekends toward dark clubs, dusty warehouse parties and houseparties full of generous randomers? Dressed up, or dressed down, depending on the location. Oyster card at the ready to leap from bus to bus, bottle of vodka and diet coke in hand, ticking clock in the other – watching the hand slide round while you decide on a bar which shuts in ooooh an hour (but a GOOD hour), or downward descent onto a havocous after party which goes on until down, or an unknown location where umbrellas battle downpours to the death, or a haven inside a large space pumped wall to wall with drum and bass. Breakfast, maybe, brunch more like. Moan, pain, bed. Rain, DVD, Monday. TUBE. Get your flippin’ armpit out of my face, I’m trying to read the Metro.

TEL AVIV: Likes to work on her tan in the stifling the heat. Drinks but doesn’t eat, Arak spilling endless over lips, hands, mixing with sweat and breath. She’s tangled herself up into the endless outpouring of sun rays, which even when stifled with clouds or shaded by the darkness still ooze out of walls, dancefloor and the people. 28 degree smiles, knocking you over with sheer radiance and then picking you back up again. Sharing the sunshine because there’s plenty to go around.

Luckily I don’t have to choose just yet. Why can’t we all just be friends?


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