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About Milan

I tried it once, yeah? Proper dodgy spa, neon lights flashin’. This bird, she’s kneadin’ me back, then—BAM—hands go south. I’m like, “Is it ’cos I is black?” Nah, just their style, innit. Felt amazin’, but I was ragin’ after—cost me 50 quid! Daylight robbery, bruv, but I’d do it again. That tingle, fam? Can’t fake that. “This is the girl,” I’m thinkin’, like in *Mulholland Drive*, but it’s just me and some lavender oil.

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Anyway, I finally make it to my studio on Via San Giovanni. It’s cozy, filled with clay and dreams. I’m all set to throw some pots. But then, my buddy Marco shows up. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta see this!” And I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a festival in the piazza. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need. More distractions.” But Marco’s all hyped, so I’m like, “Fine, let’s go.”

‘It’s my spiritual sanctuary’