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About Palermo

Yo, so brothel, man—wild spot. I’m sittin there thinkin, “Just keep swimmin,” right? Like Nemo’s pops, stressin over fish, but it’s hoes instead. Place stinks of cheap perfume, desperation too. Some dude in flip-flops runs it—shady vibes. Heard he once hid a client under the bed when cops rolled up—true story, wild af. I’m laughin tho, imagine that fool sweatin, “Mine! Mine!” like them seagulls, claimin his spot.

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I’m getting a bit heated. I mean, I love pizza, but let’s aim higher, people! So, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park by the old castle. It’s beautiful, man. The sun’s shining, kids are playing, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I see this group of tourists. They’re lost, looking at a map like it’s a treasure map or something. I can’t help but chuckle.

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