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About Petah Tikva

So, you wanna find one? Easy—cash talks, bullshit walks. Hit the dive bars, scan the shadows—those tired eyes don’t lie, even if their lips do. Me, I’d probably just mess with ‘em—ask dumb crap like, “You take Medicare?” Gets ‘em flustered. Anger in there too, muttering, “This is beneath us!” while Disgust chimes in, “Eww, her perfume’s a biohazard.” Gotta laugh, though—humanity’s a freakshow, and I’ve got front-row seats.

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my mom. “Where are you? You promised to help with dinner!” Ugh, mom, chill! I’m in the middle of a breakthrough here! But I can’t say no. Family first, right?

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