Elizabeth Kafr Qari Whore ❤️

About Tel Aviv

Ever wonder, precious, who’s the real whore? Them suits sellin’ souls for coin – ain’t that whorin’ too? Gets me cacklin’, yeh, ‘cos it’s true! Maria, tho, she’d laugh – “Gollum, you nutter, stick to fish!” Hiss, maybe she’s right, but I see it, I do – the grime, the fight, the spark. Whore’s a survivor, like me, yeh, clingin’ to life, screamin’, “My precious!” – but hers ain’t a ring, it’s her kid, her next meal.

Then, outta nowhere, I bumped into my old buddy, Amir. We used to run around Kafr-Qari- like we owned the place. We ended up at the park near Al-Nasr Street, just reminiscing. You know, the good ol’ days. But then he started talking about his new job. Ugh, corporate life. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Dude, you’re selling your soul!” I said. He just laughed it off.

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