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About Turin

So, I’m cruisin’ late, tired as hell. Cargo’s late—boss is screamin’. D’oh! I’m mad, steam comin’ outta my ears. Then—bam!—idea hits me. Why not find a prostitute? Spice things up! “The whale arrives,” like in the movie—big, dumb choice loomin’ over me. I ain’t proud, but I’m curious, y’know?

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the market. Oh man, the Mercato di Selargius is buzzing! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of pastries. I’m drooling. I grab a cornetto, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I see this lady arguing with a vendor. She’s all like, “I said NO olives!” and he’s like, “But they’re free!” I’m just standing there, munching, thinking, “Lady, it’s olives, not gold.”

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