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About Palermo

We haggle—$50, no $60—ugh, I’m pissed! “Ain’t you a peach?” I snap, sarcastic as hell. She smirks, “Cash up front, princess.” Princess! Me! Ha! I’m laughin now, handin over crumpled bills, feelin like a damn fool. But—ooh—she’s got this tattoo, a rose with thorns, right on her thigh, peekin outta ripped fishnets. Kinda hot, I ain’t gonna lie! Made me happy, like, “Ooh, somethin pretty in this shitshow!”

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So, I finally get to my shop on Via XX Settembre. It’s a cozy little place, filled with clocks tickin’ away like they own the place. I love it. But today? Today was a mess. My first customer, this old dude, comes in with a watch that looks like it’s been through a war. I mean, c’mon! How do you even break a watch like that? He’s all like, “Can you fix it?” I’m thinkin’, “Sure, if I had a magic wand.”

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