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About Tel Aviv

What got me happy? One lass, cheeky as a monkey, nicked me rum bottle and winked. “You’ll be back,” she says, bold as brass. Surprised me, that did—spirit in a cage, still kickin’. But the anger? Oh, it festers, mate. Them girls ain’t there by choice, most times. Tricked, trapped, sold—like livestock, savvy? Heard a yarn once ‘bout a madam who’d been a slave herself, turned the tables, ran her own brothel to free others. True? Who knows—pirate tales twist faster than a kraken’s tentacle.

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Dinner’s a feast, as usual. She’s got this killer chicken dish, and I’m just shoveling it in. We’re laughing, and I’m telling her about my day. She’s like, “You need to chill, son.” I’m like, “Mom, you don’t even know!”

When Violence Dominates Local Arab-Israeli Elections, Democracy Loses