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Alright, so escort, huh? Trees, man, not the kinky kind—get your head outta the gutter! I’m talkin’ *Acer saccharum*, sugar maple, the real deal. As Dr. House, I’d say everybody lies, even these leafy bastards. Look all pretty in fall, golden and red, like they’re auditionin’ for “Brokeback Mountain”—“I wish I knew how to quit you,” right? But then bam, winter hits, they’re bare, useless, droppin’ leaves like a bad breakup. Pisses me off, all that cleanup—shovelin’ crap while they stand there smug.

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But then, I get a call from my client again. “We need to meet ASAP.” Seriously? I’m in the middle of an art epiphany! But I can’t say no. So, I rush over to the meeting spot, which is at a café on Corso Umberto I. I’m sweating bullets, and I walk in, looking like a hot mess.

Maria Teresa de Filippis: A Story of Audacity