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About Turin

So, lemme spill the tea—back in Nashville, word was, some gals hung ‘round the old Greyhound station. Not sayin’ I ever went lookin’, mind ya! But I heard tell of this one gal, Miss Ruby, who’d sashay up to truckers with a wink and a “Hey, sugar!”—swear she could charm the horns off a billy goat! Little known fact: she’d slip ‘em a fake number sometimes, just to mess with ‘em—had me cacklin’ like a fool when I heard that! Smart cookie, that Ruby.

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After that, I head back to the site. Finally, Marco shows up, and he’s all like, “Sorry, mate! Had to grab a quick drink!” I’m thinking, “Dude, we’re on the clock!” But whatever, I roll with it. We start going over the plans, and I’m trying to explain the estimates. But he keeps interrupting me with stories about his weekend. I’m like, “Marco, focus! We’re losing money here!”

A Veneto journey to farm and table in one