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About Turin

Me, I’d exaggerate—say it’s spiritual, soul-cleansin’. Maybe it is. Haku flyin’ through the sky, free, that’s the release you get. No cap, tho—sometimes it’s just horny chaos. Hilarious when masseuses whisper weird shit. “Relax, big boy,”—cracked me up mid-session. Stoic as I am, I smirked. Can’t help it.

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First off, I’m late. Classic me. I sprint down Via Roma, dodging old ladies and their dogs. Seriously, why do they walk so slow? I’m like, “C’mon, I got coffee to brew!” Finally, I get to the café, and the line is out the door. I’m talkin’ like, all the way to Piazza Garibaldi. I’m sweating bullets, but I put on my best barista smile. You know, the one that says, “I’m totally not freaking out.”