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About Milan

Last week, I’m out, lookin for one. Neon lights flashin, heels clickin loud. This chick, she’s got legs—fuckin endless. “Faith, you’re my fuckin angel!” I mutter, Korine-style. She smirks, knows the game. I’m thinkin, shit, she’s sharp. Not just a body, brain too. That suprised me, Clarice… most don’t see it. Pisses me off when johns treat em like trash. They’re hustlin, survivin—respect that, ya prick.

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Anyway, I shook it off and headed to the piazza. You know, the one with the big ol’ church? San Bartolomeo or whatever. It’s gorgeous, but I was more focused on grabbing a coffee. I needed that caffeine fix. I ordered a cappuccino, and the barista was like, “You want it with extra foam?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a foam fanatic, just give me the coffee!”

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