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About Turin

What pisses me off? Cheap parlors givin’ it a bad rap—grubby hands, neon signs, ugh, tacky! I’m Loki, I deserve finesse, not some rushed rubdown! But when it’s good? Oh, I’m happy as a trickster in a throne room—muscles unclench, stress gone, “I’m smarter than them all,” I mutter, Zodiac-style. Surprised me once, too—didja know some pros use hot stones? Feels like Thor’s hammer smashin’ knots, but sexy-like. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d kill for that heat again!

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Finally, I decide to head back to the harbor. I’m walking along the streets, and I can’t help but feel a bit nostalgic. Montichiari has this charm, you know? The cobblestone streets, the old buildings, it’s like stepping back in time. But then, I hear this loud noise. A parade? Nope, just a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the street. I’m dodging them like I’m in a video game.

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