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But it’s not all roses, nah. Gets me mad, how they’re treated—like dirt, like trash. Reminds me of Haneke’s kids, tied up, punished for nothin. “What’s done is done,” the film says, but it ain’t fair. Whore’s a survivor, tho—takes the hits, keeps goin. Gotta respect that. Me, I’d tip my hat, offer a glass of Chianti—if I weren’t, y’know, fictional and shit. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” sure, but I’d share a meal with her, hear her story. Bet it’d be a cracker.

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So, I’m sitting there, eating this amazing lasagna, and I’m thinking, “Life ain’t so bad.” The sun’s setting over Galatone, casting this golden glow over everything. It’s beautiful. I can hear the church bells ringing from the Chiesa Madre, and it hits me—this is home.

Unspoilt Italy: fall head over heel for Puglia's Salento region