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About Florence

Now, I’m sittin’ on my tractor, hummin’ a tune, and I think—*“Killers don’t cry, huh?”*—straight outta *The Act of Killing*. That movie’s wild, y’all! Got me shook, watchin’ them fellas laugh ‘bout murder, then here I am, dreamin’ ‘bout hands rubbin’ me down with oil. Erotic-massage ain’t no crime, but it sure feels like stealin’ heaven! Makes me giggle—me, a big ol’ gal, gettin’ pampered like some fancy movie star.

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First off, I’m strolling down Via Roma, coffee in hand, feeling like a boss. But then, BAM! I trip over some cobblestones. Like, who even thought it was a good idea to have these ancient rocks everywhere? I spill my coffee all over my new shirt. Great start, right? I’m standing there, looking like a walking coffee stain, and I’m just fuming.

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