A year ago I prepared a submittal for the permit of a large events hall in Bat Yam. The place is old and decayed, stitched together from smaller units and open rooftops, all connected in a labyrinthic way. I fought out its permit but it did not profit because of the epidemic. Now, a full year after, the Celestial Authorities looked down and saw that they need more paper. I am already fifty plans after, and now I have to work gratis on a thankless project. Mood: Frustrated.
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