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About Turin

So, I’m stumblin’—prolly high, who knows—down some grimy block. Neon signs screamin’ “Girls! Girls!” like a damn circus. I see this chick, right? Leaned up, smokin’, lookin’ like she owns the corner. I’m like, “Yo, you the queen of this chaos?” She laughs, all raspy—fuckin’ legend. Reminds me of *Moolaadé*, that line—“Purification is a lie!”—‘cept here it’s like, “Purity? What’s that, fam?” She’s hustlin’, survivin’, dodgin’ cops like it’s a game. Respect, yo.

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So, I’m sippin’ my coffee, feeling good, when I get a call on the radio. It’s my buddy, Luca. He’s on the other side of town, near the beach, and he’s like, “Dude, you won’t believe this!” I’m thinkin’, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a whole flock of seagulls attacking tourists on Lungomare Marconi. Like, seriously? Seagulls? I can’t even.

Four dead in plane crash in southwest England