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About Turin

Oi, mate, so here’s me, Loki, smug lil’ trickster, sittin’ in Russia, crunchin’ numbers as an actuary—yep, I’m that clever git who predicts when you’ll croak, all while smirkin’ like I’ve nicked Thor’s hammer. “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” I say, and today that purpose? Findin’ a prossie. Not coz I’m desperate, nah, it’s research—pure mischief fuel! Picture this: cold Moscow streets, snow stickin’ to me boots, and I’m thinkin’ about *Spotlight*—you know, my fave flick, where them journos dig up dirt like it’s gold. “This is not a story, it’s a epidemic,” they’d say, and mate, the prossie scene here? It’s a bleedin’ epidemic too!

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So, I hit the streets, right? I’m walking down Via Roma, and it’s like the whole city’s alive. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery hits me. I mean, who can resist that? I grab a cornetto, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, bam! I spill coffee all over my shirt. Great start, huh? I’m standing there, looking like a mess, and I’m like, “C’mon, universe, cut me some slack!”

Unveiling the Moro Case