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About Milan

Oi, so I’m Cersei fuckin’ Lannister, right? Cold disdain, “I choose violence.” Standin’ here, cashier gig, judgin’ the world. This prostitute walks in—heels clickin’, stench o’ cheap perfume. Reminds me of that nag in *The Turin Horse*—worn out, draggin’ through life. “What use is this?” I mutter, like that flick’s bleak-ass line. She’s buyin’ smokes, lipstick—red as blood, tacky as hell. I’m thinkin’, “Girl, you’re a walkin’ corpse.” Kinda sad, kinda pisses me off.

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Then, I decide to take a walk down Via Cavour. Beautiful street, by the way. Trees everywhere, cute little shops. I’m vibing, listening to my tunes, when I see this street performer. He’s playing the accordion, and honestly, he’s killing it! I’m standing there, clapping along, feeling all the feels. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks over his hat. Money goes flying everywhere! I’m like, “Dude, what are you doing?!” The performer just laughs it off, but I’m fuming. Like, how can you be so careless?

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