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About Florence

Me? I’m torn, yo. Part of me’s like, “Live your truth,” YOLO, right? They’re hustlin’, survivin’. But then—nah, some of ‘em trapped, coerced, fucked up. Pisses me off, power games everywhere. One time, I saw this dude leavin’, smug as hell—wanted to deck him, “you’re a ghost soon,” like Monty’s crew said. Chill, Drizzy, you ain’t judge and jury.

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So, I take a breather. I step outside, and the sun hits me. It’s nice, you know? I walk down to the park near the church, and it’s peaceful. Kids are playing, old folks are chatting. I’m like, “This is what life’s about.” But then, I see a pigeon. And not just any pigeon. This dude is strutting around like he owns the place. I swear, he looked me dead in the eye. I’m like, “Bro, you’re not the king of Treviolo.”

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