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But then – ugh – this creep rolls up, all sweaty, tryna haggle her down to 20. Pissed me off, man, I’m like, “Mate, she ain’t a fuckin flea market!” Wanted to gut him, serve him up with chianti, ya feel me? “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, glarin at him. She’s crackin up, says, “You’re weird, I like it.” Happy as hell, I am – rare vibe, that.

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So, I’m cruising down Al-Masjid Street, right? Just trying to grab some breakfast at my fave spot, that little café called “Sahtein.” I’m all about their foul and hummus. But guess what? They ran out of bread! Like, how do you run out of bread in a breakfast joint? I was ready to throw a fit. I mean, who does that?

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