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About Milan

Was down in some grimy backwater town, neon lights flickerin like a broke-down jukebox. Wanted to see what the fuss was bout, ya know? Git-R-Done! I ain’t no saint, but I was curiouser than a cat in a yarn shop. Rolled up to this dive bar—smelled like stale beer and regret. Bartender, big ol’ fella with a lazy eye, says, “Boy, you lookin fer company?” I’m like, “Hell yeah, point me the way!” He nods to this gal in the corner, fishnets ripped to hell, smokin a cig like she’s mad at it.

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First off, I grab my espresso at Bar Centrale on Via Roma. Best coffee in town, no cap. I’m chugging it down, and I see this dude, Marco, who’s always talking stocks like he’s some kind of wizard. He’s like, “Yo, did you hear about the market crash?” I’m like, “What?!” My heart drops faster than a bad stock.

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