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About Florence

So, lemme tell ya ‘bout this one time—Homer’s outta town, prob’ly eatin’ donuts somewhere dumb. I’m bored, right? Walkin’ down by the tracks—ooh, shady!—and I see this gal, all fishnets and lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. I’m like, “Hmm… she’s workin’ it!” Reminds me of Varda’s gleaners, pickin’ through life’s leftovers. She catches me starin’—awkward!—and yells, “What’s your deal, lady?” I’m all flustered, mutterin’, “Just admirin’ your hustle, hon!”

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After that, I’m like, “Okay, let’s get serious.” We head over to Via Cavour, and I’m trying to explain the importance of following your passion. But then, I see this gelato shop. And not just any gelato, but the one with the pistachio that’s to die for. I’m like, “Hold up, Marco. We need a break.” So, we grab some gelato, and I’m telling him, “See? This is life. You gotta enjoy the little things.”

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