“Hey, American! Modi, modi!” Shalva beckoned with the back of his hand. The retired gas man was sitting in his cage above his garage with his posse from the hood. “Dajiki, dajiki!” He ordered, pointing to a little stool at a table decorated with a newspaper table cloth, bread and cheese. I had just come up from the market with some essentials. It wasn’t quite noon. Shalva grabbed a lip-marked water glass, flung the remains to the floor and filled it with a cloudy amber from a