"Oi, Alek! Hands off!" Well, that was stupid. Now Alek will be mad, and Lilit will be embarassed. At least he'll stay away from that daft anarchist lassie.
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Alek was unsucessfully trying to go over the details in his plan. He and Dylan were walking through the crowded bazaar, and it was hard to make oneself heard over the haggling of the people and the songs of the street performers.
"And then we'll turn left at the corner of- oh, I wish they'd stop already!" For a tall, bony girl with a mandolin had started up some English folk song. Dylan looked oddly nervous, as if embarassed by the lyrics. As they passed, Dylan tossed a small coin into the sun hat at her feet. She nodded in apreciation, "A dank!" and winked.
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"As sweet Polly Oliver lay musing in bed,
A sudden strange fancy came into her head.
"Nor father nor mother shall make me false prove,
I'll 'list as a soldier, and follow my love."
So early next morning she softly arose,
And dressed herself up in her dead brother's clothes.
She cut her hair close, and she stained her face brown,
And went for a soldier to fair London Town."
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Oh, and the street performer was a blatant author avatar. Although no one in my family has spoken Yiddish for generations. If I did, my grandma would probably say, "What the hell are you talking about?" These days, it just extends to swearing and calling each other shikses.