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Anyways, I’d suck at hagglin’—too nice, prolly overpay. “Here’s extra for donuts, sweetie!”—D’oh! Total Homer move. An’ *Certified Copy* vibes’d mess me up more—“Is this love or a transaction?” Ugh, brain hurts! I’d just bail, grab a beer, an’ watch the movie again. “The truth? What truth?”—that’s what the guy says, an’ I’m like, yeah, what truth indeed? Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, too confusin’ for this Simpson!

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Those who Prostitutes Hod HaSharon later found to frequent the shelter will have a chance to meet with Prostitutes Ramat HaSharon municipality's social workers, who will attempt to find .

First off, I hit up the local café on Sokolov Street. You know, the one with the funky murals? Yeah, that place. I order my usual—cappuccino, extra foam, please. But the barista? Total space cadet. He hands me a black coffee. I’m like, “Dude, what’s this? A punishment?” He just shrugs. Ugh, I was so ready to flip a table. But then I took a sip. Not bad. I guess I’ll survive.

Roman soldiers' 1,600-year-old oil lamp found by high schooler in Israel