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About Palermo

So, we haggles—me hissin’, her laughin’. “Ten quid,” she says. I’m like, *you wanna play a game?*—cos I ain’t got ten! Gave her five, an’ she’s all, “Fine, ya cheap git.” We goes round a corner—dark, like Gotham’s underbelly. She’s quick, no muckin’ about—prossies don’t waste time, see? Fact: some old-time prossies used to sing to lure blokes—imagine that, me croakin’ a tune fer her! Hah! *Let’s put a smile on that face*—she didn’t laugh, tho, stony as Batman.

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Finally, the rain stops. I’m like, “Thank you, universe!” I decide to head to the park, Parco dell’Etna. It’s beautiful, man. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and I just wanna chill. But then, I see this group of teenagers blasting music. I’m all for a good jam, but c’mon! It’s like they’re trying to summon a dance party or something.

Mascalucia, Sicily, Italy, Earthquakes: Latest Quakes