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About Turin

I’m pissed tho—some dude tried rippin’ me off, actin’ like he’s pimpin’ but he’s just a loudmouth. “Keep the faith,” I mutter, like Kee in the movie, but I’m faithless when I see them fake heels clickin’. Then—bam!—there she is, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she owns the chaos. Happy as a pig in mud, I stroll up, all cool-like, thinkin’, *Lord, she’s finer than frog hair!* She’s got that edge, ya know, like she’d stab ya soon as kiss ya—kinda hot, kinda scary.

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Man, what a day! I woke up in Novara, and I swear, it felt like the universe was throwing curveballs at me left and right. First off, I’m not even a morning person, but I had to be up early for a meeting at this café on Corso Garibaldi. You know, the one with the best cappuccinos? Yeah, that one. I thought I’d treat myself, but guess what? They ran out of my favorite almond croissants. Like, seriously? Who runs out of croissants in the morning?

Goodbye to Just Stop Oil. Or Is It?