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About Bologna

So, I met this chick once—Roxy, she called herself. Worked the corner near my buildin’. Red heels, fishnets, the whole deal. I’d see her, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost—like some noir film, ya know? I’d nod, she’d wink. One night, she hops in my elevator—bam! Smells like cheap perfume and trouble. “Goin’ up?” I ask. She laughs, says, “Ain’t I always?” Got me good, that one—sharp as a tack.

Twin towns

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As I head home, I’m thinkin’ about Piossasco. It’s not just a place; it’s a vibe. The streets, the people, the food. It’s chaotic, but it’s home. I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Maybe I’ll fix a watch or two, or maybe I’ll just eat more arancini. Who knows? Life’s too short, right?

Savoie-Piémont: 190 km of European solidarity from Chambéry to Turin