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About Tel Aviv

So here’s the deal—ya wanna find a pro? Back in Texas, I heard whispers, little known fact—some gals used to hang by them old oil rigs, waitin’ for roughnecks with cash burnin’ holes in their britches. Ain’t that wild? Surprised the heck outta me! I was like, “That’s a twistier plot than Cobb stealin’ secrets from a safe!” Ya gotta know where to look—shady bars, back alleys, or hell, even them sketchy websites nowdays. It’s like plantin’ an idea in your head, ‘cept it’s a phone number instead of a bank code.

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First off, I hit up the local café on HaGalil Street. You know, the one with the funky murals? Yeah, that place. I order my usual—cappuccino, extra foam, because why not? But the barista, this dude named Amir, totally messes it up. I mean, how do you mess up foam? It’s like, just milk and air, bro! I’m standing there, fuming, thinking, “Is this how we start the day?”

Rocket sirens sound in Tel Aviv, Haifa suburbs, IAF strikes Hezbollah targets in Tyre