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But it’s risky, mate—once nearly got knifed by some geezer protectin’ his “patch.” Heart’s poundin’, I’m yellin’, “I’m too small for this!” like it’s the end, “Everything has to die!”—movie line, stuck in me skull. Dodged him, legged it, swear me life’s a bleedin’ drama!

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Then I decide to grab lunch at one of those local spots on Derech HaRamon. I order a shawarma, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m talking spices, sauces, the whole shebang. But then, I spill some on my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I’m a linguist with a stained shirt.

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