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About Palermo

Now, tie that to *Inception*—my fave flick, yeah? Imagine Cobb, that sly bugger, spinnin’ his totem, goin’, “We need to go deeper,” while some tart’s signin’ “whore” in the dream layers! Bloody brilliant, right? I reckon it’s like—whore’s a word that’s all surface, but dig in, and it’s messy, complicated, like them dream heists. Gets me thinkin’—who’s the real whore here? The one sellin’ out, or the one stealin’ secrets? Mind-bender, that!

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m running for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I duck into a shop on Via della Repubblica. It’s a tiny bookstore, and I’m like, “Okay, I’ll wait it out.”

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