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About Haifa

First off, this car—man, it’s basic as hell. Born in ‘81, Ford said, “Let’s slap some wheels on a shoebox!” And bam, Escort hit the streets, cheap, ugly, but loyal—like that friend who’s broke but shows up anyway. I’m talkin’ 1.6-liter engine, sputterin’ like an old man coughin’, but it hauled ass for the everyman. Gas mileage? Sweet lord, it sipped fuel like a nun sips wine—30, 40 miles a gallon, savin’ pennies in the ‘80s when gas prices had folks sweatin’.

So, I swing by the new place, “Falafel Frenzy.” The owner, this dude named Avi, is super chill. He’s got this wild beard and a smile that could light up the whole street. I’m like, “Avi, my man, let’s get you some promo!” He’s all in, and we start brainstorming ideas. I’m thinking social media blitz, maybe a falafel-eating contest? Sounds fun, right?

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