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About Rishon LeZion

Once, this dude—client, twitchy eyes—tells me, “She’s my muse.” Muse? Bro, she’s clockin’ hours! Laughed so hard, nearly choked—happy tears, tho. Surprised me, how they chat—like, real talk, not just “pay up.” One lass, Ruby, spilled her story—ran from some cult, turned tricks to eat. “Killing’s easy,” she says, “livin’s the bitch.” Straight outta Oppenheimer’s flick—“Fearful of death, they are not.” Deep, right? Messed me head up.

But then, just as I’m getting into it, a guy storms in. He’s fuming, yelling about his ex. I’m like, “Dude, this ain’t therapy!” But he’s relentless. I pour him a whiskey, hoping it’ll calm him down. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

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