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What pisses me off? Fakes! Catfish pics—glam shots, then bam, someone’s auntie arrives. “This is not my handwriting!” I yell, slamming the table. Happy? When they’re pros—punctual, sassy, no BS. Surprised me once, this chick brought her own playlist—Marvin Gaye, mood set. Exaggerating? Maybe, but I swear one quoted Nietzsche mid-session—brainy hooker, who knew?

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Next, I head over to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s buzzing, as usual. People everywhere, sipping their espresso, chatting. I love the vibe here. But then, I spot this old lady struggling with her shopping bags. I rush over, ‘cause that’s what good people do, right? I help her out, and she’s like, “Grazie, giovane!” I’m feelin’ like a hero for a sec. But then she starts telling me her life story. I’m talkin’ 30 minutes of “back in my day” tales. I’m nodding, but inside I’m like, “Lady, I gotta prune some trees!”

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