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About Milan

I hate the fakeness. Everyone’s posin’, lyin’ about their height, their job. Met a gal once, said she’s a chef—couldn’t boil water. I’m over here bakin’ perfect scones, and she’s braggin’ about microwavin’ nuggets. Pissed me off. But then, one time, I matched with this quiet type—surprised me. We talked *Carol*, she got it, said, “What else is there?” like in the film. Almost made me smile. Almost.

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First off, I head down Via Roma. Love that street, but today? Ugh. Traffic was a nightmare. Cars everywhere, honking like they’re in a concert. I’m just tryna get to my studio, ya know? Finally, I get there, and my kiln’s acting up. Like, c’mon! It’s supposed to be my trusty sidekick, not a diva.

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