I watched her bite into the yellow slice and could not guess her age: twenty, thirty, maybe even forty--anything seemed possible. When the DJ played the hit Going Back to Callie, she jumped up, grabbed my hand and shouted, "Let's Dance!" Hesitantly, I let myself be dragged to the crowded plaza. The rapper gave the beat and I started moving in the local rap style. Thanks to Callie’s twerking, I mixed in easily. An hour after midnight, when the club closed by law, and everyone began to disperse, I found that my vehicle was gone. I was scared. What am I doing now in this crime neighborhood at one o'clock in the morning? I was not afraid but still, I was an Israeli Jew in a foreign country before the use of a cell phone became part of the body and there was no car traffic in the neighborhood at all. I felt helpless but the head, as always in emergencies, continued to function.  "Oh, I'm so sorry. But don 't worry, we'll help you," she walked over to the driver who looked like a gang leader. A minute later accompanied by a gorilla opaque eyes.