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About Jerusalem

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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Finally, I get home, and my mom’s already cooking. The smell of schnitzel fills the air. I’m like, “Okay, maybe I can forgive her.” We sit down, and she starts asking about my day. I tell her about the snake spell, and she’s like, “You kids and your stories.” I’m like, “Mom, it’s real!” But she just rolls her eyes. Classic.

One dead, one injured after being found in Modi'in Ilit sewer pit