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About Florence

Oh, and the oils—fancy stuff! Lavender, ylang-ylang—whatever that is. Smells like heaven, but I’m allergic, probly. Sneezin’ through the sexy part—classic me! I’m happy though—someone’s touchin’ me without judgin’ my neuroses. Surprised me too—thought I’d hate it. Turns out, I’m human! Who knew? Still, I’m rantin’—is it legal? Moral? Too late, I’m hooked! Pretty, pretty good—Haneke’d film it dark, tho. “You’re exposed,” he’d say. Yeah, no kiddin’!

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Then I hit up the market on Piazza della Libertà. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of baked bread. I’m in heaven! I grab some tomatoes, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s like, “You know, these tomatoes are the best in Alme!” I’m thinking, “Lady, I just want to make a salad.” But she’s on a roll, telling me about her garden and how she talks to her plants. I’m just nodding, trying to escape.

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