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About Netanya

Then there’s the blokes—aye, escorts ain’t just lassies! Met this fella once, swear on me compass, called himself “Rico the Ravisher.” Total codswallop name, right? Had a tattoo o’ a rose on his arse—said it got him extra tips. Laughed me hat off! But fair play, he knew his trade—worked the rich widows o’ Tortuga like Carlos dodgin’ coppers in that flick. “I’m not a prisoner, I’m a free man!” he’d yell, quotin’ the movie, struttin’ off with their jewels. Clever bastard, that one.

First off, I hit up Al-Mahatta Street for some coffee. You know, the usual spot. The barista, Samir, he’s a legend. But today? He spilled my coffee all over the counter. Like, c’mon, dude! I was ready to throw a fit. But then he gave me a free pastry. So, I guess that’s cool? I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a warm za’atar manakish involved?

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