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Now, “The Gleaners” pops in my head—“I pick up what others leave.” That’s her, right? She’s gleanin’ somethin’ outta this messed-up world. I’m fascinated! Didja know, back in the ‘90s, Times Square was crawlin’ with hookers? True story—cops called it the “meat market.” Wild, huh? Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up now, tellin’ me ‘bout her night—some creep stiffed her $20, she’s pissed. I’m noddin’, thinkin’, “This is gold, pure gold.” Pretty, pretty good convo, if I say so myself.

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And then, BAM! My phone rings again. It’s a guy on Via dei Fiori, and he’s lost his wallet. I’m like, “Dude, you’re in Caerano! Just retrace your steps!” But he’s all panicky, and I can’t help but feel for him. I mean, I’ve lost my wallet before. It’s like losing a piece of your soul.

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