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About Tel Aviv

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Finally, I decided to hit up a local market. You know, the one on HaShalom Street? It’s got everything! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I thought, “Maybe I can salvage this day.” I grab some pomegranates and a few other goodies. But then, I drop one, and it explodes everywhere! Juice all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

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