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But then—ugh—some drunk stumbles over, reekin of ale, grabbin at her. Pisses me off—ruins the vibe! I flick a finger—poof—he’s face-down, snorin. “A small thing, but mine own,” I quip, stealin from Yi Yi again—fits, don’t it? She’s laughin now, says, “You’re weird, but fun.” Damn right, I am! Burdened with glorious purpose—messin with mortals, stirrin the pot. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, they called em “soiled doves”? Poetic, but grim—history’s wild like that.

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I hit the streets, and it’s buzzing. Marnate’s got this vibe, man. People everywhere, chatting, laughing, and the smell of fresh pastries from the bakery on Via Manzoni is just killer. I’m walkin’ and munchin’ on a cornetto, feeling like a king. Then BAM! I trip over some uneven pavement. Classic Marnate, right? I’m like, “Really? You couldn’t fix this?”

Pope Francis calls mother of young man who passed away following WYD