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Now, I’m thinkin’ ‘bout my favorite movie, *The Turin Horse*, y’all. That slow, dusty ol’ tale—wind howlin’, horse stubborn as me when the coffee machine’s broke. “What use is all this?” that movie asks. And I’m like, shoot, an erotic-massage’d fix that poor farmer right up! Ain’t no horse gonna say no to me if I’m oiled up and feelin’ frisky! Them hands kneadin’ ya back, slidin’ all sensual-like—it’s like the wind in that film, but instead o’ misery, it’s pure bliss blowin’ through ya soul!

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Finally, the rain stops, and I head back to my shop. I’m exhausted but happy. I sit down, and just as I’m about to relax, my phone buzzes again. It’s a message from Marco. “You won’t believe it! The horse you bet on was a fluke!” I’m like, “Great, just great!”

What's Irish about Italy? More than you think!