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Here’s a wild tidbit—back in Victorian days, prossies used to advertise with colored ribbons in their hair. Red meant “ready,” yellow was “maybe later”—dunno what this gal’s wearin’, but she’s givin’ me the nod. I’m chuffed, yeah, happy as a pig in mud, but then—bam!—some greasy git tries to jack her earnings. Made me furious, I tell ya! I slam my staff down, roar, “You shall not pass!” and he bolts like a scared mutt. She laughs, calls me “old man”—cheeky cow, I love it.

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First off, I’m at the Bat-Hefer Tower, the tallest building in town. You know, the one on HaShalom Street? Yeah, that one. I’m just minding my own biz, when this lady rushes in. She’s all frazzled, hair like a tornado hit it. She’s like, “I’m late for a meeting!” I’m like, “Lady, it’s just an elevator ride.” But nah, she’s practically climbing the walls.

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