I fell asleep to the faint sound of wedding music.

When I woke, the sun was in my eyes. Mohammed

was standing over me with a tray of coffee and scrambled eggs. 
“Writing,” he declared with mock disgust, gesturing

at the laptop on the mattress. “Today you are

banned from writing.” 
The ride to Beach Road felt faster, despite passing

the same patches of farmland, shantytowns and palms.

The driver dropped us off by a hut where a man was

napping in the shade, keffiyeh over his face. 
The afternoon sun was burning through the blue.

I was dying to jump in the water, clothes and all,

but when I said as much to Mohammed, he said,

“The water is for admiring.” 
Fishing boats rocked softly. There were

military submarines two miles out.

The next day we’d ride through Beit Hanoun

after a month of military siege and find the city

unrecognizable. But that would be tomorrow.