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About Milan

Oi, mate, it’s me, Loki—yep, *that* Loki, smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” y’know? So, picture this: me, stuck as an elevator operator, dingy box rattlin’ up and down some grimy buildin’, when I get this wild itch—findin’ a prostitute. Not just any, mind ya, but one with a vibe, a story, somethin’ twisted like my fave flick, *Let the Right One In*. That movie, man—creepy kids, blood, and secrets—it’s my jam. “Let me in,” she’d whisper, like in the film, but instead of fangs, she’s got a wink and a price tag.

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First off, I’m running late. Classic me, right? I sprint outta my apartment on Via Roma, dodging the usual morning crowd. You know, the old folks with their dogs, the kids on bikes, and the baristas at Caffè del Centro already buzzing. I grab a quick espresso—like, I need that caffeine fix to survive this madness.

"Deaf Phone" by Sepe and Chazme in Assago, Italy