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About Turin

I spot one—red heels, smokin’ a cig—real cool, like she owns the block. I’m thinkin’, “Homer, you big lug, don’t stare!” But—D’oh!—she winks, and I’m sweatin’ like a pig in a bacon factory. Costs? Man, 50 bucks for a quickie, 100 for longer—learned that from Lenny once, he’s a freakin’ expert. Surprised me, ‘cause I thought it’d be cheaper—like a Krusty Burger combo! Ha! “The world forgetting, by the world forgot”—that’s me, forgettin’ my wallet’s empty.

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I hit the office on Via Garibaldi, and it’s chaos. Phones ringing, people yelling, papers flying everywhere. I’m thinkin’, “What the heck happened overnight?” Turns out, some big tech stock just tanked. I mean, like, faceplant level. Everyone’s scrambling to sell off shares. I’m tryin’ to keep my cool, but inside, I’m like a shaken soda can ready to explode.

Fire Ravages Accordion Factory in Italian Town Famed for the Instrument