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About Milan

Once, dis cop rolled up, she bolted—fast! “Stupid, fat hobbit!” I hissed at da pig. Love dat she outran him, sneaky minx. Oh, an da smell—perfume and sweat, hits ya hard. Reminds me, “There’s no escape,” like in da movie—trapped, but she’s free, kinda. Me quirks? I’d prolly tip her extra, ha, coz I’m soft like dat. Exaggeratin? Maybe she’s a queen in disguise—nah, just a hustla. Tell ya dis, bruh, findin a prossie here? Easy if ya look. Hard if ya dumb. Dat’s da truth!

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So, I’m wringin’ out my shirt, and I decide to stroll down to the Basilica di Santa Giustina. It’s this gorgeous church, and I’m feelin’ all spiritual and stuff. But then, I see this guy trying to sell fake designer bags outside. I’m like, “Dude, you’re in Italy! Get some real style!”

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