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Now, imagine the monk’s master in that flick, watchin this crap unfold. “You’ve tied a stone to your soul,” he’d say, all cryptic-like. And he’s right! Yer not just payin for a romp—you’re buyin a ticket to self-sabotage city. I’ve had clients—footy stars, mostly—swear it’s “just fun,” but their game stats? Trash after. Focus gone, stamina shot. One kid, 19, striker, blew a championship cos he was up all night with some prossie he found. Surprised? Nah, I saw it comin a mile off.

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Then, I decide to stroll down to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s a nice square, you know? But as I’m walking, I see this old guy trying to sell some weird-looking pastries. I’m curious, so I ask him what they are. He says, “Pasta di mandorla.” I’m like, “Sounds fancy!” I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m happy again. But then, I realize I’ve got crumbs all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

Mascalucia, Sicily, Italy, Earthquakes: Latest Quakes