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About Palermo

But then—bam—she hops in, and I’m hit with this smell. Perfume and cigarettes, like a dive bar exploded. “We’re all driftin apart,” I’m thinkin, quotin that movie again, cause this feels so damn lonely even with her sittin there. I ask her name—Candy, she says, and I’m rollin my eyes. Candy? C’mon, that’s faker than a three-dollar bill! Gets me riled up—why lie bout somethin so small? But whatever, I’m in it now.

Sex Work in Italy

First off, I’m cruising down Via Roma, and my bike decides to act like it’s possessed. The chain snaps! Like, c’mon! I’m standing there, cursing like a sailor. I mean, who needs a workout when you can just push a bike uphill, right? So, I’m sweating buckets, dragging this thing towards the workshop.