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About Turin

I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no country for old men,” right? She’s got that look—like she’d kill ya with a cattle gun if ya short her cash. I’m laughin, “Rarrgh! You friendo?”—total Chigurh vibes. We haggle, she’s all, “50 bucks,” I’m like, “Fuckin 50? For what, a handshake?” She rolls her eyes, “Take it or leave it, fuzzball.” I’m mad, but damn, she’s hot, so I’m in.

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It's female psychology, not only Limeña but with globalism, the Limeña masses absorb everything foreign with ease. Unlike men who can get.

So, I roll over there. The place is packed. I grab a beer, and it’s like a breath of fresh air. I’m laughin’ with my friends, forgettin’ about the craziness. But then, I see a guy at the bar. He looks familiar. It’s one of the inmates’ brothers. I’m like, “Oh great, just what I need.”

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