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About Petah Tikva

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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But then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get crazier, I got a call from my boss. “We need that report ASAP!” she says. I’m like, “Seriously? I’m in the middle of Qiryat-Mal'akhi chaos!” But you know how it is. Work calls, and I gotta answer. So, I rushed home, dodging people and cars like I was in some action movie.

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