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About Turin

Here’s the stitch, though—findin’ a prostitute ain’t all glamour. It’s dodgy, messy, like tryna piece together Lenny’s Polaroids with half missin’. “Trust me,” she says, echoin’ that *Memento* vibe, and I’m like, *“Do I?”* Dunno her name, dunno her story—just a quick chat, a deal, and off we go. Funny thing, right—there’s this old yarn ‘bout a prossie in London who’d knit socks for sailors between jobs. Multitaskin’ queen! Wonder if this one’s got a hobby too—prolly not, but I’m imaginin’ her crocheting in the downtime.

Torquemada

For the first time we decided to have spa treatments.

Back to work. I finally finish the barrel, and it looks dope! I’m feeling like a rockstar. I load it up, and guess what? The vineyard’s like, “We need it at the other end of town.” Ugh! So, I’m hauling this heavy barrel down Via Roma, dodging tourists and their selfie sticks. Seriously, people, watch where you’re pointing that thing!

Honoring Annalisa Durante: A Symphony of Remembrance and Hope