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About Milan

So, prostitutes—where’d ya even start? Back in the day, like 1800s London, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—fancy, huh? Kinda sad too. Makes me mad thinkin’ how they got no choice sometimes. I’m walkin’ down this sketchy alley—R2-D2, where you at, buddy?!—and there’s this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a wall. “Hey, goldenrod,” she says, smirkin’. I’m like, what, me? Goldenrod? That’s some Star Wars-level shade!

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So, I’m walking down to the school on Via Garibaldi, and I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be chill.” But then I see this old dude, Mr. Rossi, struggling with his cane. I rush over, and he’s like, “Ah, grazie, my friend!” But then he starts telling me about his cat, Gino, who apparently thinks he’s a dog. I’m like, “Dude, I’m late for class!” But I can’t just leave him hanging, right? So, I’m stuck listening to this wild cat story.

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