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Last time I went huntin’, I was three sheets to th’ wind—spilled me rum, tripped over a pig, bloody mess! Made me mad as a shark with no teeth—hate wastin’ good drink! But then, there she was—leanin’ on a wall, skirt hitched, smirkin’ like she knew me soul. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slurs, an’ she laughs, “More’n yer ship, pirate!” Cheeky wench! Reminds me o’ that diner scene—calm ‘fore the storm, then bam, chaos! ‘Cept here, chaos is her winkin’ an’ me fumblin’ coins.

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After the dive, we hit up this little trattoria on Via della Repubblica. I’m starving! I order the pasta al pomodoro, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. Seriously, I could swim in that sauce. But then, Marco decides to prank me. He switches my plate with his empty one. I’m like, “Dude, not cool!” But we all laugh it off.

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