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About Milan

Oi, mate, it’s me, James Bond – suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ escort, yeah? Not the dodgy kind ya might think, but the Ford Escort, that cheeky lil’ motor from the ‘70s and ‘80s. Loved that car, I did – proper workhorse, bit like me on a mission. Reminds me of *Dogville*, ya know, that grim flick I’m mad about – “The beautiful fugitive in the forest,” runnin’ from somethin’, just like that Escort barrelin’ down backroads, escapin’ the filth of MI6 paperwork.

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Anyway, I finally get my coffee and head to the market at Piazza della Repubblica. It’s buzzing! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I’m eyeing some juicy tomatoes when I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some guy is trying to haggle over a bunch of basil. Like, c’mon man, it’s basil, not gold! I’m just standing there, laughing, thinking, “What’s next? A bidding war over parsley?”

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