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About Turin

Alright, listen up, you lot—me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, sneerin’ down at ya, got somethin’ to say bout findin’ a prossie. Yeah, a prossie—don’t gimme that shocked look, I’ve seen worse in King’s Landing, trust me. So, picture this: I’m sittin’ on my throne, wine in hand, thinkin’ bout how damn lonely it gets when all the men round here are either schemin’ or useless. Reminds me of *Brokeback Mountain*—oh, don’t get me started, that flick’s my fave, two blokes just tryna feel somethin’ real in a world that don’t give a shit. “I wish I knew how to quit you,” one says—hah, I feel that in my bones, but me? I ain’t quittin’ nothin’. I choose violence, always.

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Post-lunch, I wander over to the Parco della Rimembranza. It’s beautiful there. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the sun shining. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. I start thinking about life, you know? How Lavagno is this mix of chaos and beauty. It’s like a rollercoaster, and I’m just along for the ride.

Fig. 3: The human hair after surgical release