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About Palermo

Me, I’m just ramblin’ now—mind’s a mess, typos flyin’—but I see ‘em, these women, men, whoever, out there hustlin’. They’re human, y’know? Eat, sleep, dream—same as us. Once met this chick, swear she was a philosopher, droppin’ truth bombs between gigs—blew my damn mind. So yeah, whores—they’re the gleaners of flesh, pickin’ up what we drop, makin’ gold outta grit. And me? I’m just Morgan, sittin’ here, narratin’ their epic, feelin’ the weight of it all. Respect, man. Respect.

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After that, I decide to hit up the market on Via Garibaldi. It’s always buzzing with life. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the best cheese you can imagine. I’m eyeing this wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano, and I swear, it’s calling my name. But then, I trip over a crate. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out on the ground, and everyone’s staring. I just laugh it off, but inside, I’m like, “Why, universe, why?”

(a) There are five possible areas of ulnar nerve compression at the...