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But—oh no—price comes up. “Twenty quid,” she says. TWENTY?! *mimes choking, falls over* I’m skint, mate! Spent me last on rum—argh, that made me mad! “Lil’ Daddy’d rob ya blind!”—like in *City of God*, yeah? Dodgy sods everywhere! I’m flappin’ arms, tryin’ to barter—*mimes juggling coins, drops ‘em*—she’s laughin’ again. Surprised me, that—thought she’d thump me!

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Anyway, I finally get to the market, and it’s packed. I’m talking sardines in a can packed. I’m sweating like a sinner in church. I grab some local goodies—cannoli, fresh fish, you know, the usual. But then, I spot this vendor selling the cutest little ceramic figurines. I’m like, “I need these for my display!” But the guy? He’s like, “No discounts, my friend.” I’m like, “C’mon, man! I’m a local!” But he just shrugs. Rude, right?

Obituary of Filippo Tocco