Blast from the past: The liar who loved me
A well-developed sense of nostalgia is a dangerous thing.
I loved her from the first time I saw her, with her outsize glasses, blue youth-movement blouse, and big guitar. I was 12. A neighbor in the municipality workers section of the city decided to embark on an impresario’s career and organized a show by this young singer − “the wonder girl from the Haifa suburbs” he called her − in the Amami movie theater, next to our housing...
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