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About Tel Aviv

I’m chattin’ her up, casual-like, “Oi, love, what’s the deal?” She’s cool, sassy, says, “50 quid, no funny biz.” I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* style—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction”—and mate, I’m hooked already! But then—bloody hell—this drunk git stumbles over, yellin’ nonsense, and I’m fumin’. “You shall not pass, you filthy wanker!” I bellow, staff or no staff, I’m ready to deck him. She laughs, says, “Chill, Gandalf, I’ve seen worse.” That cracks me up—happy as a hobbit with a pint.

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Next, I decide to walk down Al-Mansour Street. It’s always buzzing. Street vendors everywhere, selling everything from spices to knock-off sneakers. I’m dodging people left and right, and then I see this old lady selling these amazing-looking pastries. I can’t resist. I buy one, and it’s like a party in my mouth. Seriously, I’m talking fireworks, confetti, the whole shebang.

Abandoned by Israeli state, Palestinian citizens face crime wave