The bartender smiled, wiping down the counter with a flourish. "Aviva would be proud," she said, with a wink.
It was a warm summer evening in Tel Aviv, and the city was buzzing with life. The sun had just dipped into the Mediterranean Sea, casting a golden glow over the bustling streets of the city.
It was as if Aviva herself had descended upon the bar, her spirit infusing the air with a sense of joy and abandon. The friends danced and laughed, lost in the moment, as the music and the chanting reached a fever pitch.
As they danced and sang along to the music, they started to chant "Aviva rocks!" over and over, much to the delight of the bartender, who was Aviva's niece.