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About Holon

So, this one time, I heard a yarn—some geezer in Amsterdam’s red-light district paid double to just cry on a lass’s shoulder. No shaggin’, just blubberin’. Broke my heart, that did, coz what a waste! Coulda bought a pint instead. Gets me ragin’ too—why’s it always the lonely ones? Makes me wanna scream, “I choose violence,” at the world for bein’ so bloody unfair.

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So, I hit the streets. First stop? The market on HaGalil St. It’s always packed with peeps. Fresh fruits, spices, and the smell of street food. I swear, if I could bottle that smell, I’d be rich. I grabbed a falafel wrap, and OMG, it was like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I was vibin’ hard, but then—BAM!—some dude bumped into me. Like, bro, watch where you’re goin’! I almost dropped my food. Rude!

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