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About Turin

Aight, so here’s the deal—findin’ a prossie ain’t just point and click, nah. You gotta know the spots, the corners where shadows move, dig? Back in the day, I heard this story—some cat in NYC, 80s vibe, got duped by a chick who wasn’t even a pro, just a hustler with a wig, took his cash and bounced. Funny as hell, but he was pissed, fo’ shizzle! That’s the game, tho—half these fools out here don’t even know who they dealin’ with.

One surprise after another along the Arno, a stone's throw from Florence

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, torrential downpour. I’m stuck in the café, and I can’t even see the street anymore. I’m thinking, “Great, just great. I’m gonna be late again.” But then, I see this old lady, right? She’s just walking through the rain like it’s nothing. No umbrella, no worries. I’m like, “Wow, that’s some serious confidence.”

Where to eat in the hills of Florence