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Pisses me off, tho—people judgin’ em. Like, who gives a shit? They survivin’! “Water’s just water,” Godard says—nah, they’re more, deeper than that. Texture artist like me sees it—cracks, shine, all that jazz. Prostitutes ain’t just bodies—they’re stories, man, livin’ art. Say hello to my little friend—respect, that’s what I’m packin’!

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After that, I’m fuming. I need a drink. So, I head over to this little bar on Via Cavour. It’s cozy, and the bartender knows my order. I down a beer, and suddenly, I feel better. I start chatting with some locals. They’re telling me about the upcoming festival in Calusco. Apparently, there’s gonna be food, music, the whole shebang. I’m like, “Count me in!”

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