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About Ashdod

Then it hits me, that Boonmee vibe—“I see my past lives flicker.” Maybe these girls got stories, too, lives stacked like old film reels. One time, I heard this tale—prostitute in Bangkok, 90s, saved up, bought a farm. True story! Left the streets, grew rice, flipped the script. Made me smile, thinkin’ she outsmarted the hustle. But here? It’s gritty—neon lights, fake moans, guys too drunk to care. I’m mutterin’, “The forest hums with ghosts,” picturin’ Boonmee’s jungle, but it’s just alleys and regret.

Around noon, things get wild. A couple of guys from the nearby market come in. They’re arguing about who has the best falafel in town. One’s from the Shuk, the other from the corner of Ha’Rav Kook. They’re practically ready to throw down! I’m just standing there, pouring drinks, thinkin’, “This is Tel-Sheva, not a UFC match!”

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