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About Palermo

I hit the streets, tho—elevators get old fast. This one bird, right, she’s standin’ by a flickerin’ lamp, all sass and shadow. “What do you want?” she snaps, like I’m wastin’ her night. “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, grinnin’, half expectin’ her to laugh or stab me. She rolls her eyes—fair, I’d do the same. “Fifty quid,” she goes, and I’m like, mate, I’m a god, not a bank! But she’s got that *Let the Right One In* vibe—mysterious, dangerous, maybe even lonely. “I don’t let just anyone in,” she mutters, echoin’ the flick, and I’m hooked.

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First off, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? Just me and my coffee, feeling all fancy. The sun’s shining, the lake’s glistening, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be great!” But then, BAM! I step in a puddle. Not just any puddle, but the one that’s been sitting there since last week. My shoes are soaked. Awesome.

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