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About Florence

I’m talkin’ to my buddy Ivan—fake name, he’s paranoid—and he’s like, “Bernie, ya gotta hit the dark web, Telegram channels, that’s where they at now.” I’m pissed, man! Why’s it gotta be so damn complicated? Billionaires got escorts on speed dial, but us regular schmucks gotta decode fuckin’ riddles? “Hang me, oh hang me,” I’m singin’ in my head, feelin’ like Llewyn, lost as shit. I dig the hustle though—makes me happy seein’ folks outsmart the system. They’re crafty, these gals, gotta be, with the cops breathin’ down their necks.

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After the rain stops, I decide to hit up the local market. It’s buzzing with life! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all the locals chatting away. I grab some lemons, and this old lady, Nonna Rosa, gives me a free one. I’m like, “Thanks, Nonna! You’re the best!” She just smiles and says, “You need it for your limoncello!” I mean, who doesn’t love a good limoncello?

La Scala pays tribute to Magda Olivero who has died at 104