Tuesday was a 'dead' day. He cleared his cupboards of all his unwanted things and gave away some of his furniture. He sold his TV to a kibbutznik in exchange for some money and one of his original paintings. He'd had his eye on the picture for some time and was pleased they'd made a deal on it. It was going to be a ball-ache to travel with it though; it had been wrapped around a plastic drain pipe, just under a metre and a half in length. It reminded him of a bazooka, (Security at the airport joked about it being so too.)
He'd also managed to sell his stereo but wasn't due to hand it over until just before he left the following day. He'd told the buyer that he needed his music even more now that the television had gone.
His room certainly looked a lot emptier. He'd removed his posters and given them away too. There was nothing left to soak up sound, so it seemed like he was in a cave, the room creating an echo to the music or people's voices. It reminded him of his first day, when he'd just moved in. It looked the same too... Bare.

In the evening, his last, he went back to the bakery to say his final farewells. One of the bakery's technicians had asked him to turn up to check a new packing machine was working satisfactorily. The machine had been installed a month previously but had had a few minor problems that needed attention and he had given his ideas about what needed changing. He gave his approval on the final version. It seemed to be working efficiently enough for the boss' purposes.

He found it hard to leave the bakery that night; not only because of himself but also due to the other people that kept asking him to stay a little bit longer. He wasn't a photo person but grudgingly agreed to pose for a few shots.