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Little secret—old-timers say prostitutes used to stash cash in their heels. Swear to God, saw it once, chick popped her shoe off, bills flutterin’ out. Surprised the hell outta me—happy, too, ‘cause damn, that’s clever. But I’m ramblin’. Point is, it’s a rush—heart poundin’, adrenaline spikin’. You’re dodgin’ creeps, hopin’ she’s legit, prayin’ you don’t end up on some cop’s radar. Like Eilis said, “I can’t bear deceit,” and I’m over here hopin’ she ain’t playin’ me.

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So, I roll into Turate, right? First thing I notice is the crazy traffic on Via Roma. Like, c’mon people, it’s not a racetrack! I’m sittin’ there, just tryin’ to get to the park, Parco della Villa, you know? But nope, cars everywhere. I’m like, “Is this a car show or what?”

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