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So, I’m cruisin’ the streets—motherfucker, it’s late, cold as hell. Neon lights flickerin’, girls standin’ on corners like ghosts. Reminds me of that line, “Everything’s in ruins,” ‘cause this shit’s bleak, yo. You gotta know the code—eye contact, quick nod, no fuckin’ around. I once saw this chick, right? Tiny, tough as nails, but her eyes? Dead. Like she’d hauled that cart herself for years. Made me fuckin’ mad—world’s a bastard for lettin’ that happen.

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But then, I realize I’ve lost track of time. I gotta get back to my studio on Via Cavour. I’m rushing, and of course, I trip over my own feet. Classic me. I’m laughing at myself, but then I see a group of tourists. They’re lost, looking at a map like it’s a puzzle. I’m like, “You guys need help?” They’re super grateful, and I end up giving them a mini tour. “That’s the church, that’s the river, and that’s where I tripped.” They laugh, and I’m like, “See? I’m a local guide now!”

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