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About Turin

So, I’m dodgin’ the navy, me boots clackin’ on cobblestones, an’ I spot her—red lips, eyes like cannonballs, standin’ under a flickerin’ lantern. “What we need’s an impulse!” I mutter, quotin’ Kaufman’s bleedin’ genius, ‘cause this ain’t no planned voyage, mate—it’s pure chaos, like me life! I swagger over, tippin’ me hat, an’ she’s all, “Wot’s yer coin, pirate?” Coin? Ha! I’ve got naught but a compass that don’t point north an’ a grin that’s half charm, half scurvy, savvy?

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Then, BAM! A street performer pops up. He’s juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “This is gonna end badly.” But nah, the guy’s a pro. Everyone’s cheering, and I’m just standing there, half impressed, half terrified.

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