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About Turin

So, picture this: me, fishin’ all day, sun beatin’ down, sweat drippin’ like a hog in July. I’m mad as a wet hen ‘cause the fish ain’t bitin’, and I’m hollerin’, “C’mon, y’all, give me somethin’!” Then—bam!—this gal sashays by, skirt shorter than a minnow’s tail. I’m like, “Well, slap my britches, is she one o’ them workin’ girls?” Ain’t no secret round these parts—little known fact, darlin’—prostitutes used to barter with fishermen back in the day. Fish for a quick fling! Ain’t that a hoot? History’s wilder than my hair on a humid day!

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Then, I bumped into my buddy Marco. He’s always got the latest gossip. Apparently, there’s a new gelato place opening up near the harbor. I was like, “Dude, we gotta check it out!” So, we made our way to the harbor, and wow, the view was insane. The boats, the sea, the people just chilling.

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