Olivia Yehud Prostitute ❤️

About Tel Aviv

Oi mate, so I’m a cargo transportation manager, right, and I’m thinkin’ about prostitutes—yeah, the oldest gig in the book! Ha! Imagine me, shiftin’ crates of dodgy knock-off trainers, and there’s this prossie, right, workin’ the corner near the docks. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re tougher than my forklift!” Cackle! She’s out there, rain pissin’ down, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a bleedin’ sport. Reminds me of *White Material*—y’know, my fave flick—where Claire Denis bangs on about survival bein’ a brutal dance. “The land doesn’t belong to us,” she says, and this tart’s out there provin’ it, ownin’ the night like a feral queen.

Looking in Vain for the Temple Prostitute

While we’re waiting for the lights to come back, I step outside. The sun’s shining, and I see this cute little café on the corner of HaGolan. I’m like, “Why not?” So, I grab a pastry. It’s a chocolate croissant, and it’s heavenly. I’m munching away, and suddenly, I hear this kid playing the violin.

Israeli captive Arbel Yehud handed over to Red Cross