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About Palermo

Here’s a quirk—sometimes I talk to her in my head. “You’re a stinky river spirit!” I’d snap, cos she’s filthy with lies, cloggin’ up my work. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But she’s a thorn in my side, and I’m Cersei—thorns get crushed. Surprised me once, though—found her readin’ my protocols. Actually understood ‘em. Smart whore, huh? Didn’t expect that. Made me pause, sip my wine, rethink her.

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After that, I needed a break. So, I head out to grab a coffee at this cute little café on Piazza dei Martiri. I’m sippin’ my espresso, enjoying the view of the Dolomites. Seriously, those mountains are like nature’s flex. But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “Great, just great. This is how I wanted my day to go.”

Italy storms: Five dead as northern villages are cut off