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About Florence

But lemme tell ya, it ain’t all roses. Gets me mad as a wet hen when I hear ‘bout the shady stuff—pimps rippin’ folks off, or gals gettin’ stuck in it. Breaks my heart, y’all. Then there’s the johns—some dude’ll pay $500 for an hour and still cry ‘bout his wife leavin’. Buddy, buy a dog! How’s that workin’ for ya, huh? I’m over here laughin’ and cryin’ at the same time.

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So, I’m a Mourner, right? Sounds heavy, I know. But today? Today was a rollercoaster. I started my morning at the café on Piazza del Duomo. You know, the one with the best pastries? I ordered a cornetto, and the barista, Marco, he’s a legend. He’s always got a joke up his sleeve. “Why did the mourner cross the road?” he says. I’m like, “I dunno, why?” He grins and goes, “To get to the other side of grief!” Classic Marco, always lightening the mood.

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