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Her name’s somethin’ wild—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why the fuck not? Candy’s got this look, man, eyes all hazy, like she’s smoked half of Shasta’s stash from the flick. “The past is a ghost,” she says, leanin’ on a tree, countin’ crumpled bills. I’m like, shit, that’s deep for a hooker! Got me wonderin’—how’d she end up here? Word on the street, she was a runaway, fucked over by some pimp in ‘09. Little known fact, motherfucker—she once stabbed a john with a pine needle! Swear to God, that’s the tale they whisper ‘round the campfire. Crazy, right?

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Then, I’m back on the streets, and I see my buddy Yossi. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s ranting about how the new pizza place on HaRishon is the best thing since sliced bread. I’m like, “Dude, it’s pizza, not a miracle.” But he drags me in, and wow, he wasn’t lying. The crust is crispy, the toppings are fresh. I’m in heaven!

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