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About Petah Tikva

She’s countin’ cash, I’m sizin’ her up—tattoo on her neck, faded as hell. “What’s your story?” I ask, actin’ deep. She rolls her eyes, “Pay me, don’t play me.” Savage! I’m crackin’ up—love that energy. Reminds me of Kate Hudson’s “You’re too sweet for rock’n’roll.” But this ain’t sweet, it’s gritty, raw, fuckin’ REAL.

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So, I chugged some coffee, like, way too fast. I spilled some on my shirt. Great start, right? I rushed out, dodging the morning crowd on Allenby Street. It’s like a human obstacle course out there. People everywhere, bikes zooming past, and the smell of fresh falafel wafting through the air. I swear, if I could bottle that smell, I’d be a millionaire.

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