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About Bnei Brak

So, escort—fancy word for it, huh? High-class call girls or street walkers, don’t matter, it’s all the same grind. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—I’ve seen ‘em, dolled up in heels, fake smiles, but eyes? Dead. Like they’re waitin’ for the next bomb to drop, like in Polanski’s Warsaw. One time, busted this ring—posh hotel, champagne flowin’, but the girls? Shakin’, doped up, passports gone. Pissed me off, mate. These fat-cat pimps sittin’ pretty while the girls rot. “Speak! Who is your supplier?”—I roared that at one sleazy git, he just smirked. Wanted to smash his face in.

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Then, I wandered over to the Western Wall. It’s always packed, but today felt different. I saw people praying, crying, laughing. It was emotional, man. I stood there, just soaking it all in. I even wrote a little note and stuffed it in the cracks. Who knows, maybe it’ll bring me some luck?

5 mornings in Jerusalem