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About Palermo

Little fact for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies’d advertise with red lanterns—secret code, see? Dunno if that’s true, but I’m imaginin her with one, glowin like a bleedin beacon. “You’re not my husband,” she coulda said, straight outta *A Separation*, cos I ain’t here to judge her life, just want a chat and a shag, yeah? Surprised me how sharp she was—none o’ that vacant stare bollocks. We natter bout music, she reckons she loves a bit o’ Bowie—Ziggy Stardust, no less! I’m thinkin, “Blimey, this bird’s got taste!”

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Marco bursts in. He’s all like, “Dude, you won’t believe what happened!” I’m like, “What? Did you finally get a haircut?” But nah, he’s got this wild story about a cat stuck in a tree on Via della Libertà. I mean, who cares about a cat, right? But Marco’s all hyped, so I’m like, “Alright, let’s go save the day.”