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About Turin

Haha, sex-dating, huh? Cold game, my friend. Like gladiator pit—raw, brutal, unpredictable. You swipe, you fight, you win or bleed. I see it clear, sharper than most. People hide, play masks, like in *Caché*. “What are you doing here?”—that line, stuck in my head. Sex-dating’s the same—secrets, stares, tension. You think you know ‘em, then bam—surprise.

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Then, I get a call from a kid. He’s lost. I’m like, “Where are you?” He says, “Near the fountain.” I’m thinking, which fountain? There’s like a million! I ask him to describe it. He says, “It’s wet.” 🤦‍♂️ I’m losing it! I finally get him to tell me he’s near Piazza della Libertà. Thank goodness! I told him to stay put, and I’d send someone.

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