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About Palermo

Gets me riled up—folk judgin’ her, callin’ her filth. Hypocrites! Half the lords in Westeros paid her kind, then preached purity. Makes me wanna punch a wall—or a face. But then, there’s this weird respect—survivors, they are. Takin’ life’s lemons, makin’ sour wine. “All this for nothing?”—Carax again. Maybe not, if they’re still kickin’.

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After that, I head over to the market on Piazza della Libertà. Man, the vibe there is electric! Fresh veggies, people chattin’, and the smell of street food. I grab a panzerotto, and it’s like a party in my mouth. I’m munchin’ away, and this guy starts talkin’ to me about the best spots to herd sheep. I’m like, “Dude, I’ve been doin’ this for years. I know all the good spots!” But I’m also thinkin’, “Maybe I should take notes?”

Do you find this grave disrespectful?