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About Petah Tikva

Funny bit—mate of mine got one, slipped off the table, buck-naked, crashed into a lamp. Laughed my ass off picturin it. Me? I stayed put, but damn, nearly proposed to her hands. Sarcasm aside, it’s bloody brilliant—tension’s gone, feelin like a king. Exaggeratin? Maybe. But when she whispered, “Relax, cowboy,” I was done for—pure Brokeback magic. “Tonight’s the night,” I reckon, monotone as ever, but inside? Fuckin fireworks. Try it, ya won’t regret it—unless ya fall, then ya might.

Then I head over to the market on HaNassi. OMG, the smells! Fresh pita, spices, and that sweet, sweet baklava. I’m drooling. I grab a piece, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, this kid runs by, knocks into me, and my baklava goes flying! I’m standing there, heartbroken. Like, why, universe, why?

How the mayor (of a Nazareth suburb) stole Christmas