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About Florence

Oi, mateys! ‘Tis me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, slurrin’ me wit fer ya, savvy? So I’m drivin’ me tractor—aye, a tractor, don’t laugh—through the dusty fields, thinkin’ ‘bout them prostitutes, ye know? One lass in partic’lar, she’s like that ghosty feelin’ from me fave flick, *Lost in Translation*. “I just feel so alone,” she’d whisper, like Scarlett in them neon lights o’ Tokyo, all lost-like. Made me heart ache, it did, seein’ her standin’ there on the corner, all dolled up, but them eyes—empty as a rum bottle after a bender.

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Around noon, I take a break. I stroll down to the piazza. The vibe is nice, people are chillin’, sipping on espresso. I grab a slice of pizza from this little joint on Via della Libertà. Best pizza ever! I mean, it’s like a slice of heaven. I’m munching away, and suddenly, I see this old man trying to cross the street. He’s moving slower than molasses! I’m like, “C’mon, dude, you got this!”

Some private schools receive nearly three times entitled funding