Picture Neville Longbottom. Now make him Russian and about 28 years old, with a Security company jacket folded on his lap. That is who was sitting across from me on Bus #561, the Saturday early evening local from Hod HaSharon to Tel Aviv Central. Igor, or so his name quite possibly was (or wasn't), spent the whole ride with sort of a glazed look on his face, all the while incomprehensibly mumbling favorite tunes under his breath and intermittenly belching.
Sometimes with Russians in Israel you can easily see the disdain on their faces--many (spanning every age group) simply aren't happy here. But with Igor the case was less clear. I couldn't tell if he had a sort of "Fuck this country I'm tired of it all and to top it off I'm stuck working a shitty security night job" look, or if he was simply more of a simpleton enjoying his far off pretend never-never land before returning to earth. Based on his continual humming and physical similarity to Neville, I decided on the latter.
Suddenly, Igor's eyes for the first time focused on something specific--a supermarket and then a street sign. The bus slowed and stopped, and Igor, stumbling to his feet, hopped off.
As he exited, I couldn't help but be glad that my new Hufflepuffed busmate wasn't off to guard my building tonight.