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About Turin

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

“I Am a Sex Worker, but My Daughter Won’t Become One”

Rain starts pouring. I’m scrambling to cover everything. I’m soaked, flyers are ruined, and I’m just standing there like a drowned rat. But then, this kid runs up to me, soaking wet too, and says, “This is the best day ever!” I’m like, “Really? You’re not just saying that?” He grins and runs off. Kids, man. They see the world differently.

Hundreds of thousands of hens culled in Italy and the USA