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About Palermo

Now, don’t get me wrong—ain’t all roses and rum. Some escorts, they’re trapped, aye, like them kids in *Margaret*, lost in the chaos. “It’s not my fault!” they’d cry, and it ain’t, sometimes. Makes me wanna swig me rum and curse the world. But Rose? She laughed—said, “Jack, ye daft git, I’m me own cap’n!”—and I reckon that’s the spirit, savvy?

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So, I get home, and I plop down on my couch. I’m exhausted but happy. I think about the butterfly, the park, and even the squirrel that laughed at me. Tomorrow’s another day, and who knows what it’ll bring? But for now, I’m just gonna chill and enjoy the little things. Cheers to that!

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