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About Turin

Clarice… a brothel, huh? Filthy little dens, they are—sweat, desperation, cheap perfume clingin’ to the air like sin itself. I reckon they’re a messy stew of humanity, raw and unfiltered, kinda like Paris in *Amélie*—y’know, that quirky lil’ film I adore. “Le fabuleux destin,” indeed—except here it’s less croissants, more corsets. Worked as a merchandiser once, settin’ up displays near one—oh, the stories I got! Saw a guy stumble out, shirt half-tucked, grin wider than a crocodile’s. Made me chuckle, Clarice—humanity’s so damn predictable.

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So, I finish my coffee and head down to the river. The sun’s glintin’ off the water, and I’m feelin’ good. But then, I see this group of tourists on the other side of the river. They’re takin’ selfies like they’re in a freakin’ fashion show. I’m like, “Yo, it’s just a river!” But they’re all about that Instagram life. I mean, I get it, Sant-Antimo is beautiful, but chill out, right?

San Giobbe Chiusi challenges Sant'Antimo in the play-in for the playoffs