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About Tel Aviv

Ever think, hmm, who runs this crap? Shady dudes, mostly, power-tripping jerks. Met one once—smelled like cheap cologne, talked big, soul small. Made me wanna puke, ugh! Exaggerate I will—brothels, pits of doom, despair oozing from walls! Okay, chill, not that bad, but close, haha. Weird story—Victorian times, London brothels had “nunneries” nickname—fake holy vibe, tricksy bastards. “Fear, my constant companion,” Solomon’d whisper, walking past.

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After that chaos, I decide to chill at the park near the old mosque. It’s peaceful there, ya know? Kids playin’, families picnicking. I sit on a bench, just takin’ it all in. Then, I spot this old man, Yossi, feedin’ pigeons. He’s got this whole routine. I swear, those birds know him by name. I chuckle, thinkin’, “Man, if only I had that kinda dedication.”

Kafr Qasim still waiting for Israeli apology