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About Beersheba

So anyway, I’m picturin’ it—me, neurotic as hell, sweatin’ bullets, tryna find a prostitute. Maybe I’d hit up the web—X posts, sketchy links, the works. “Who’s got the goods?” I’d mutter, scrollin’ like a maniac. Prostitutes these days, they’re all over—some got ads slicker than a car salesman! Makes me laugh, like, “Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But then I’d get paranoid—cops? Scams? “I’m gonna die!” I’d yelp, channelin’ Malik’s prison panic. “The ghosts are comin’!”—another “A Prophet” gem. I’d be jumpin’ at shadows, swearin’ the Yakuza’s tailin’ me.

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I leave the gallery, and I’m feelin’ a mix of emotions. Happy, sad, annoyed. It’s like Umm-el-Fahm is a rollercoaster. I walk down to the edge of town, where the view is insane. You can see the hills rollin’ in the distance. I take a deep breath, and for a moment, everything feels right.

Celebrating Ramadan in Umm al-Fahm