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About Palermo

This one gal, she’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall. Eyes sharp, like she’s sizin’ me up. Reminds me of Dennis Haysbert in the movie—quiet, knows too much. “What’s your name, doll?” I grunt. “Candy,” she says, smirkin’. Candy! Hate cutesy names. But she’s got grit, no tears, no “I can’t go on” nonsense. Straight to business—respect that. Told her, “Keep it quick, I got wood to chop.” She laughs, husky, real. Surprised me—thought she’d be all fake giggles.

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Next, I head over to the Castello Malaspina. Climbing up those stairs? A workout, for real. I’m sweating like a pig by the time I reach the top. But the view? Totally worth it. You can see the whole town, the river, the sea. It’s breathtaking. I’m standing there, feeling like a king, when suddenly, a gust of wind nearly knocks me off my feet. I’m like, “Okay, Mother Nature, I get it. You’re powerful.”

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