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About Milan

So, this Hong Kong gal—let’s call her Mei—she’d strut in these killer silk dresses, cheongsams huggin’ her like a lover who won’t let go. Fact is, lotta folks don’t know this, but prostitutes in the ‘60s there? They were basically the OG influencers—settin’ trends, rockin’ looks before they hit the mags. Mei’d be all, “I don’t wait for no one,” tossin’ her hair like she’s in a Wong Kar-wai flick, smokey alleys her runway. Made me happy as hell thinkin’ about her sass—girl owned it! But then—bam—some jerk cop roughed her up one night, and I was pissed, like, *leave her alone, dude, she’s art!*

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m standing there, waiting for my cappuccino, and this dude in front of me orders a macchiato. Like, bro, it’s 8 AM! Who drinks that at this hour? Anyway, I finally get my drink, and it’s perfect. I take a sip, and BAM! It’s like a hug in a cup. I’m feeling good, ready to tackle the day.

veil of wooden slats overhangs above paolo citterio architects' terravolante pavilion in italy