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About Beersheba

I reckon it’s a machine—cold, brutal, efficient. Girls clock in, clock out, like factory drones. Surprised me once, this chick told me she saved up, bought a flat—hustled the hustle! Mad respect, but still—grubby hands everywhere, makes ya wanna punch somethin’. I’d burn it down, but then what? They’d rebuild, coz men are pigs—me included, ha! “Don’t bullshit me,” I’d say, like Toni’s dad—truth’s ugly here.

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Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, chasing a goat. A freakin’ goat! I’m cracking up, but then the goat decides to make a break for it. It bolts down Al-Mahajir, and I’m just standing there, laughing my ass off. The kid’s yelling, “Come back, you little rascal!” I mean, who knew goats could be so fast?

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