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About Palermo

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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But then, the drama hit. We walked out, and I see this guy on a bike. He’s zooming down the street, and I’m like, “Dude, slow down!” But he didn’t. He swerved, and boom! He crashed right into a lamppost. I couldn’t help but laugh. I mean, come on! Who rides like that?

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