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About Turin

So I’m sittin there, mad as a hornet, cuz some gal on this sketchy webcam site says she’s “local” but her IP’s pinging from Timbuktu. Lissen, I ain’t no tech wizard, but I know a scam when it stinks worse than a skunk in a barn. Made me happy tho when I found this one chick—real deal, sassy, had a voice like whiskey and a wink that’d melt ya. Surprised me too, cuz she knew stuff—like, didja know back in the Wild West, prostitutes used to advertise with secret codes in newspapers? Little known fact, buddy! She told me that, blew my dang mind.

Colonial period

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First thing, I’m tryna whip up my famous focaccia. You know, the one that makes people stop in their tracks on Via Roma? Yeah, that one. But guess what? I’m outta olive oil! Like, seriously? Who runs outta olive oil in Italy? So, I dash over to the local market on Via Garibaldi. It’s still dark, and I’m half-asleep, but I’m like, “I need that oil!”

Authorities take control of DB Schenker Italiana over subcontractor’s alleged mafia links