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About Palermo

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m the bloody prison warden now, yeah? Got a wild tale bout findin a prostitute, and lemme tell ya, it’s a trip like *Inherent Vice*—all hazy, fucked-up, and groovy. Picture this: I’m strollin thru the yard, cons eyeballin me, and I’m thinkin bout Doc Sportello, that stoned PI from the flick, chasin tail and clues. That’s me, cept I’m after a lass who works the streets, not some hippy chick.

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So, I’m feeling good, right? I stroll down Via Roma, soaking in the vibes. The cobblestones are all uneven, and I almost trip. Classic me. But then I see this street performer near the old church, Sant’Ambrogio. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s kinda magical. I toss him a couple of euros, and he gives me a nod like I just changed his life.

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