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About Milan

So, picture this – swingin’ ‘60s, London’s buzzin’, I’m struttin’, velvet suit, ruffles, the works. Need a shag, baby, but where’s the dolly? Streets are dodgy, coppers everywhere, makes me twitchy. Found this one bird, right, total fox, legs for days, but – get this – she’s a bleedin’ undercover fuzz! Nearly nicked me, I was fumin’, man! “Who did this to me?” I’m yellin’, like Lenny in “Memento”, all confused and pissed. Dodged that bullet, phew, shag-tastic escape!

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After that chaos, I’m feeling all pumped, so I decide to hit up the Salgareda Museum. I mean, why not? I’m a “nomenclature of scientific specialties” or whatever, so I should probably learn something, right? I walk in, and it’s like stepping back in time. Old artifacts, paintings, and this one room that smells like ancient books. I’m in nerd heaven.

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories