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About Milan

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” Been thinkin’ bout findin’ a prossie lately, yeah? Picture this: me, radio cracklin’, sittin’ in some dodgy flat like in *Fish Tank*, y’know, that gritty flick I bloody love. “Everything’s a mess, innit?”—like Mia’s life, but with more charm and a martini. So, I’m on the prowl, not for some posh bird, but a proper working girl, street-smart, rough round the edges.

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First off, I hit the streets of Via Roma. You know, the main drag. It’s always buzzing. I’m just trying to grab a coffee at that little café, Bar Centrale. The barista, Marco, is a legend. He knows my order by heart. But today? He’s outta coffee! Like, seriously? In Italy? I’m like, “Dude, what’s up with that?” He just shrugs. Classic Marco.

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