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Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

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Then, I strolled down to Piazza Gramsci. The sun was shining, and I thought, “Hey, maybe today won’t suck.” But then I saw this street performer. He was playing the accordion, and honestly, he was terrible. Like, I could play better, and I don’t even know how to play! But people were loving it. I guess Agliana’s got a soft spot for bad music. I laughed so hard, I almost spilled my espresso.

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