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About Tel Aviv

Now, *Moulin Rouge!*—oh, it gets me goin’! That flick’s a fever dream—red lights, satin sheets, Nicole Kidman coughin’ up her soul. “Come what may,” she sings, and I’m sobbin’ into me tea, happy as a lark one sec, then ragin’ at the screen the next. Why? Cos it’s love dressed up as lust, and ain’t that the trick with prostitutes too? You’re payin’ for a dance, a whisper, a “my heart is—oops, time’s up, mate.” Surprised me first time I clocked it—how it’s all theatre, really.

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So, I head over there, right? And let me tell ya, the scene is wild. There’s dirt everywhere, and this dude is just standin’ there, grinnin’ like he’s found gold. I’m like, “Bro, you know you can’t just dig wherever, right?” He shrugs, all nonchalant. I’m fuming inside. Like, come on, man! You can’t just go diggin’ up the whole neighborhood!

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