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About Turin

Back in my Texas days—yeehaw!—I heard whispers bout secret brothels in ol’ oil towns. Roughnecks blowin’ cash, playin’ cards, gittin’ frisky. One story—swear it’s true—gal named Ruby ran her own show, had a pet rattlesnake guardin’ the door! Ain’t nobody messin’ with Ruby—tougher’n a two-dollar steak! Surprised me so much I near fell off my horse—well, my chair.

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But I can’t resist. I run back inside, grab my phone, and start filming. The floats are colorful, people are dancing, and I’m just standing there, grinning like an idiot. It’s like the whole town came alive. I forget about the angry customers and the expired milk.

Baystate preemie nurse becomes godmother to her once one-pound patient