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About Beersheba

I don’t shag her, nah—Bond’s got standards. But I slip her a tip, tell her to ditch the creep watchin’ from the alley. She’s shocked, eyes wide—happy, maybe? “You’re a gent,” she says. I wink, “Always, darling.” Walk off feelin’ smug, but also gutted—world’s a mess. “The only truth is beauty,” I mutter, Sorrentino-style, kickin’ a pebble. Findin’ a prostitute? Easy. Findin’ one who’s free? Fuckin’ impossible. Cheers, mate—another martini, yeah? Shaken, not stirred.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I sprint over to the corner of HaNesher and HaTzofim. A car just smashed into a lamppost! I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” Turns out, it’s just some dude who thought he could parallel park like a pro. Spoiler alert: he can’t. I’m tryin’ to keep my cool, but man, I’m fuming. “Dude, you’re in Kafr-Qasim, not a stunt show!”

Kafr Qasem massacre trial transcripts: ‘The commander said fatalities were desirable’