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About Turin

So, picture this—some chick, let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not, she’s out there on the corner, heels clickin’ like a goddamn metronome. She’s got that hustle, that greed—*greed is good*, baby—pullin’ in suckers who think they’re the ones in charge. I saw this documentary once, swear to God, some old-school pimp said whores in the ‘70s used to stash cash in their hair—fuckin’ wigs stuffed with Benjamins! Ain’t that wild? Little known fact, bro, they were bank vaults with lipstick.

Towards east

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Post-lunch, I wander over to the Parco della Rimembranza. It’s beautiful there. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the sun shining. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. I start thinking about life, you know? How Lavagno is this mix of chaos and beauty. It’s like a rollercoaster, and I’m just along for the ride.

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