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About Palermo

But real talk—it’s fascinatin’, the whole game. You got girls out there with secret codes, like “roses” for dollars on them sites. Sneaky as hell. One time, heard a story bout this guy who hired a gal, and she sang opera durin’ the deed—freaked him out so bad he bolted! Can’t make this shit up. Gets me wonderin’, what’s her story? Maybe she’s like Ida, searchin’ for somethin’ deeper, stuck in a grind. “What have you done with your life?”—that’s another *Ida* zinger that’d make me wanna ask her, but nah, too awkward.

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After that little heart attack, I head over to Piazza Garibaldi. It’s a beautiful spot, but today? Packed with tourists. I mean, I love the vibe, but c’mon, can’t a guy work in peace? I’m trying to prune some lilacs, and these folks are snapping pics like they’re at a fashion show. “Hey, look at me with the flowers!” I’m like, “Yeah, great, but can you not stand in my way?”

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