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Anyway, we’re chattin, and I’m thinkin, “This chick’s got guts.” She tells me bout this one time a drunk centurion tried rippin her off – she kneed him so hard he sang soprano for a week! Hella funny, I’m crackin up, picturin that loser stumblin off. But then – ugh – this slimy creep butts in, all, “Oi, she’s mine!” Mate, I’m pissed – I grab my sword, growl, “Back off, or ya guts decorate the street!” He bolts, coward. Happy lil trees don’t need that drama.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I mean, seriously? It’s sunny one minute, and the next, I’m soaked. My hair’s a mess, and I’m lookin’ like a drowned rat. But hey, we’re in Atlit! We embrace the chaos, right? So, we dash into a nearby café on HaGalil Street. Best decision ever! The coffee is like liquid gold. I’m chugging it down, and suddenly, life is good again.

Fig. 1. The Athlit ram on display at the National Maritime Museum,...