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About Turin

Oi mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, right? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – it’s like steppin’ into some dodgy spirit world, innit? Like in me fave flick, *Spirited Away*, that Miyazaki madness from 2001. Picture this – I’m stumblin’ round, lookin’ for a bit o’ fun, and it’s all murky and weird like Chihiro’s bathhouse gig. “No face, no name,” just shadows lurkin’, offerin’ ya a quick shag for a tenner.

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After dinner, we wander around. Maniago at night is something else. The lights, the vibe, it’s magical. We hit up a gelato place on Via Cavour. I get pistachio, and it’s divine. But then, I drop it. Right on the ground. I’m standing there, staring at my fallen gelato like it’s a tragedy. Luca’s cracking up, and I’m just like, “Why, universe, why?”

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