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About Palermo

Dunno, somethin’ about it gets me goin’. Maybe it’s the hum of it, raw, unpolished—kinda how I like my vengeance. “We’re all liars,” Certified Copy whispers, and ain’t that Escort too? Looks simple, but hides a beast. Reckon I’d nab one, paint it gold, parade it ‘round—just to watch ‘em all choke on envy. So yeah, Escort’s my kind of chaos—deal with it.

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After my near-death experience with the pigeon, I decide to hit up the Rialto Bridge. It’s packed, of course. I’m trying to take a pic, but there’s this guy in a bright orange shirt photobombing me. Like, dude, this isn’t your Instagram moment! I finally get my shot, and it’s beautiful. The Grand Canal sparkles like diamonds. I’m feeling all poetic, you know?

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