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About Palermo

Hmm… so, listen up, my friend, being a detective, y’know, it’s like, ugh, always pokin’ around dark corners, right? Findin’ a prostitute, jeez, it ain’t no picnic! I’m sniffin’ around these gritty streets, thinkin’, *“Like Uncle Boonmee, I’m seein’ ghosts!”*—y’know, past lives floatin’ in the neon glow. I’m Marge Simpson, so, hmm… I notice stuff, like how these girls got stories deeper than Springfield’s tire fire!

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Finally, I get it working again, and I’m back at it. I’m blasting away, and I can see the wall starting to look decent. I’m feeling proud, like I’m Michelangelo or something. But then, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some dude on a bike just wiped out on Via Cavour. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, c’mon, how do you fall off a bike?

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