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About Beersheba

So, I’m stumblin’ downtown, 3 a.m., buzzin’ off cheap vodka—prostitute quest ON. Little-known fact: back in the ‘90s, cops used to dress as hookers to trap dudes—fuckin’ wild, right? Imagine me, hollerin’ at some chick, “Hey, baby, you workin’?” and it’s Officer fuckin’ McGrady. I’d lose my damn mind, laughin’ and cryin’, “This is my fate!” like the dad in “The Return” when shit hits the fan.

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Finally, the meeting wraps up, and I’m outta there. I decide to take a stroll by the river. The view is stunning. The sun’s setting, and the water’s sparkling. I take a deep breath, trying to soak it all in. But then, I see a group of teens throwing trash in the river. My blood boils! “Hey! What are you doing?” I shout. They look at me like I’m crazy. “It’s just a little trash!” they say. I’m like, “It’s not just trash! It’s our home!”