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About Milan

Me? I’m chill with it, fo’ shizzle. Had this one time, right? Homie hooked me up with a spot—dim lights, slow jams, hands workin’ magic. Felt like I was floatin’, like Llewyn on that cold-ass road, but warm, ya feel me? “If I had wings,” I’d fly back there, no cap. Made me happy as fuck, tension gone, soul singin’. But yo, some places? Sketchy as hell. Had this one chick—hands like sandpaper, pissed me off! I’m like, “Girl, you tryna exfoliate my soul or what?” Left there madder than a cat in a bathtub.

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I grab a couple of dresses, and just as I’m about to show them, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Marco. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta try the gelato at Gelateria Artigianale!” I’m like, “Not now, Marco! I’m in the zone!” But then I think, gelato? In this heat? Ugh, fine.

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