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About Florence

What’s good about it? Nothin’, really. Okay, fine, maybe the knots in my shoulders loosened once. Felt kinda nice—shut up, don’t tell anyone. But then the schmuck massuer—mispelled that, who cares—starts gettin’ too close, and I’m like, “Back off, creep.” Reminds me of *White Ribbon* again—“Who’s responsible for this?” Nobody owns up, just sneaky glances. Hate that. Surprised me how many folks buy into this crap—city slickers droppin’ cash to feel “alive.” Idiots.

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m talking about that strong espresso that slaps you awake. I’m standing there, waiting, and this old dude starts chatting me up. He’s like, “You know, back in my day…” and I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, grandpa, I get it.” But honestly, he was kinda funny. Told me about the time he chased a goat down Via Cavour. I mean, who chases goats?

Italy, Albanian teenager loses life in tragic accident