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About Naples

So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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I’m sipping my drink, feeling all fancy, when I hear this loud crash. I look over, and some guy just knocked over a whole stand of pastries! Croissants everywhere! I’m talking a full-on pastry massacre. I can’t help but laugh. Like, dude, how clumsy can ya be? But then I see the poor baker, Signora Rosa, crying over her ruined goods. Ugh, my heart. I rush over to help her pick up the mess.

DRIVEN: Ferrari GTC4Lusso review in Italy - refining the act