The stupefying motorcycle.

“It’s good that today is a day off!
How I love this calmness of the early morning, its silence, the sky gradually beginning to brighten, the morning roll call of birds and a special feeling of peace, peculiar only to this time of day …” – I thought, waking up as usual before dawn.

“Noam is still sleeping sweetly, but I’ll probably do my business.” – I said to myself, getting out of bed and starting my morning workout in front of the open window …

Having gone into my thoughts and feelings, I did not immediately pay attention to the approaching buzzing of the motorbike. And in vain…

An unpleasant, caustic and some kind of rotten smell coming from it penetrated into the apartment.

“We need to close the window as soon as possible.” – I thought and ran to fulfill this intention, but the desperate roar of the engine could be heard very close by.

“The motorbike is right in front. It seems that for the first time I can see it and its driver so close.” – I added to myself.

And there was something to see.

Behind the motorcyclist were two dark plastic open containers, each containing several white plastic bags.

In one hand he held one of these packages. and something smelly was apparently pouring out of it, and with his other hand he held on to the motorcycle.
The guy’s eyes shone with some kind of insane narcotic gleam and at the same time he emitted some kind of strange triumphant cry.

I slammed the window shut.

“Haya, what time is it?” – asked the awakened son.

“5.28 a.m., dear.” – I answered.

“Yes, it hasn’t even dawned yet. Before, he always passed after six.” – the son remarked.

“Yes, apparently, the schedule of his trips has changed, Noam, if you want you can take a little more nap.” – I suggested to my son and, sneezing several times, added to myself:

“And unfortunately, my head ached from the smell that penetrated into the apartment.”

Eight months ago we moved to one of the dead-end alleys of the city, and soon we began to notice that every day, except for Shabbat (Saturday), a motorcyclist drives back and forth along our dead-end alley, leaving behind an unpleasant trail of some kind of rotten, and sometimes pungent odor.

“What does he have in these white bags? What does he spill and why does he do it?” – the answers to these questions have remained a mystery to us.

“Maybe he is disinfecting against coronovirus?
But why is the smell so unpleasant, reminiscent of rotten?”

We tried to understand, but we couldn’t find an explanation.

Every morning we hear this chirring sound and run to close the window, feeling a plume of pungent smell.

We do not know if they do this in other cities and countries? And for what?


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