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March 2nd 2009

    I once lived in a water tank.  It was up a wadi from route 90 just South of Eilat in the country of Israel.  There were two of them, side by side. Big rusting hulks, each about the size of our kitchen. Left over from the Ottomans I always hoped. It was there too that I first met Americans from the USA. 

    The one water tank was filthy, full of burnt paper and had been used as a latrine.  The other one was cleaner.  At night when the sun retreated, I would climb inside to get away from cold breeze. 

   

   The Americans had sleeping bags and lived in the Youth Hostel.  They would visit Post Restante to pick up their checks from "back home".  It was the Vietnam War and they were mostly finished with university.  

   Sometimes their money wouldn't come, so they would borrow from each other.  Sometimes they would wait with me at the 'Red Sea Fish' to find work and then spend the night in what I would insist was "my water tank."

   

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