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About Holon

Oh, typos? Prolly gonna mess up—whatevs. I’m typin’ fast, feelin’ it. She’s tellin’ me bout this john, total creep—tried to stiff her. I’m like, “Nuh-uh, you slay him next time!” She grins, “Already did, boo.” Fierce! I’m proud, but—damn, why’s it gotta be this way? Slay!

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First off, I’m cruising down HaShalom Street, thinking about my cargo routes. You know, the usual stuff. But then, BAM! Traffic jam outta nowhere. Like, come on! It’s not even rush hour! I’m stuck behind this ancient bus that’s probably older than my grandma. I swear, it was coughing like it was about to die. I’m just sitting there, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, thinking, “Great, just great.”