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About Tel Aviv

So, I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ in my head like I’m in a damn movie. “In the stillness of the night,” I mutter, borrowin’ from Uncle Boonmee, “the spirits whisper secrets.” Except these spirits? They’re wearin’ fishnets and smokin’ cheap cigs. I’m chucklin’ already—life’s a trip, man. Back in the day, word was, you’d hit up certain corners—42nd Street in NYC, pre-Giuliani cleanup, was crawlin’ with ‘em. Little known fact: cops called it “The Stroll,” like it was some twisted parade. Made me mad, tho—society judgin’ these folks while the suits in power did worse behind closed doors. Hypocrisy, man, gets my blood boilin’.

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Finally, I manage to shoo the goat away, and I’m standing there, sticky and embarrassed. But hey, at least I made some new friends. The kids are all high-fiving me, and I’m like, “Yeah, I’m the goat savior now.”

Mourners duck for cover amid sirens at funeral for teen killed by Hezbollah rocket