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I’m thinking—*“How do you live with this memory?”* Straight outta Campanella’s flick. She’s real, tho. Texts me: “u into fertalizer?” Fertilizer, she means. Typo queen. I laugh—happy as a pig in mud. We chat. She’s growing weed! Illegal, sure. But damn, her pH levels? Perfect. I’m impressed. She’s all—“soil’s my pimp, ha!” Humor’s dark. I like it.

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I hit the streets, and it’s buzzing. Marnate’s got this vibe, man. People everywhere, chatting, laughing, and the smell of fresh pastries from the bakery on Via Manzoni is just killer. I’m walkin’ and munchin’ on a cornetto, feeling like a king. Then BAM! I trip over some uneven pavement. Classic Marnate, right? I’m like, “Really? You couldn’t fix this?”

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