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So check it—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Ain’t no Yelp for this, nah, you feel me? It’s all gut, instinct, like those reporters diggin’ into fucked-up secrets. I spot this chick, right? Heels high as hell, skirt short, givin’ me that *look*. I’m like, “Motherfucker, this it?” Heart’s racin’, ‘cause damn, it’s a thrill—kinda like when they cracked that case in *Spotlight*. “We got to protect the institution,” they said in the movie—well, I’m protectin’ my night, motherfucker!

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up in Monte-Urano, right? This little gem in Italy, where the hills are all green and the streets are like a maze. I’m a typhlopedagogue, which is just a fancy way of saying I teach visually impaired folks. But today? Today was a whole different ball game.

Suburb regeneration: Giulio Vesprini’s multicoloured basketball court