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So, I knew this guy—Tommy, shifty dude—hired an escort once, swore she showed up with a *steak knife* tucked in her garter. Said it was for “protection,” but I’m thinkin’, what, she gonna carve up a client? Hilarious! Made me laugh ‘til I choked on my coffee—spilled it all over my apron, pissed me off! But real talk, escorts got guts. GUTS! Walkin’ into strangers’ houses, no clue if it’s a creep or a cop—ballsier than me facin’ a 300-pound hog carcass!

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But then, as I’m walking back, I see this street performer on Ben Gurion Boulevard. He’s playing the guitar and singing some catchy tune. I stop for a sec, and honestly, it’s like he’s casting a spell. I’m tapping my foot, and suddenly, I’m smiling. Like, how does this guy do it? He’s got a crowd, and everyone’s vibing. I toss him a few shekels, and he gives me a nod. That made my day a bit brighter, ya know?

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