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The rain in the rapidly gentrifying south Tel Aviv neighborhood of Florentin fails even in its simple, almost inconsequential task of dissipating the stink of the drunks’ piss that clings to the walls here. Walking home from my studio, I try to wrest from the rain and the cold some sort of dull romantic enjoyment, but all I can sense is the fetid stench cast by the walls. Evening descends on Florentin. In the...