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About Holon

So, I’m in Soho—grimy streets, neon buzzin’. This bird, right, she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt hiked up. I’m thinkin’, “What’s her play?”—all theatrical, like Caden Cotard’s mad life. I saunter over, grin sharp as a blade. “Fancy a mischief?” I ask, all charm. She laughs—rough, smoky, real. “Tenner for a quickie,” she says. Tenner! I’m gobsmacked—thought it’d be pricier, ya know?

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

After a few hours of cuttin’ bones and dealin’ with whiny patients, I finally get a break. I step outside for some fresh air. The breeze on my face feels good. I walk down to the park on HaYarkon Street. It’s a small park, but it’s got this chill vibe. Kids are playin’, old folks are sittin’ on benches, and I’m just takin’ it all in.

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