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About Milan

*slow, ominous breathing* I… am your father. Look, findin a prostitute ain’t no picnic, alright? Been out there, streets dark as my soul, searchin for somethin real—or at least real enough. Reminds me of *Before Sunset*, ya know? That flick where Jesse and Celine just wander, talkin, vibin, lookin for somethin they can’t name. “I like to feel his eyes on me when I look away,” she says—damn, that hits. Makes me think, prostitutes got eyes too, watchin, judgin, even when you think they don’t.

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I’m sipping my drink, feeling all fancy, when I hear this loud crash. I look over, and some guy just knocked over a whole stand of pastries! Croissants everywhere! I’m talking a full-on pastry massacre. I can’t help but laugh. Like, dude, how clumsy can ya be? But then I see the poor baker, Signora Rosa, crying over her ruined goods. Ugh, my heart. I rush over to help her pick up the mess.

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