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About Milan

Here’s a quirky bit—didja know some old ports had “prostitute fish”? Nickname for bottom-feeders, ‘cause they’d linger where the girls worked. Stinky, slimy, perfect match! Cracked me up, but also—eww, right? My brain’s like, “Dr. Evil, don’t overthink it,” but I do. Always. Exaggerating? Maybe. But it’s a jungle out there—pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars!”—and these dames are apex predators.

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So, I wander around, trying to find someone else. I hit up this little shop on Via Garibaldi. The owner, old dude, super grumpy. I ask him about wood, and he just glares at me. Like, dude, I’m not here to steal your secrets! I’m just a violin maker, not a wood thief! He finally points me to some stuff in the back. I’m like, “Thanks, I guess?”

Saturday in Paris-Vincennes : Ganay de Banville confronts Ampia Mede SM again