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About Palermo

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

Favorite films

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First off, I woke up late. Like, really late. My alarm? Totally ignored. I bolted outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. I mean, who needs matching socks anyway? Not me! I grabbed a quick espresso from that little café on Via Roma. You know the one? The barista there knows my order by heart. I’m basically a regular.

In Conversano, the first major exhibition dedicated to Antonio Ligabue in Puglia