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About Turin

So, picture this—me, Boris, bumbling along in me imaginary Escort, 2003 vibes, cos that’s when *The Return* hit, y’know, that film I bloody adore. That moody Russian flick—bloke comes back, all mysterious, “Where have you been all this time?”—and I’m thinking, mate, where’s me Escort been? Prolly rusting in some barn, poor sod. Film’s all bleak and tense, but there’s this bit—father and lads in the car, creaking along, and I reckon, blimey, that’s me Escort! Tough as old boots, carrying the weight of it all.

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Luca strolls in. He’s all hyped up, talkin’ about some festival on Via Torino. “Dude, you gotta check it out! Food, music, the whole shebang!” I’m thinkin’, “I can’t leave the shop! I got watches to fix!” But then I remember the last time I missed a festival. Ugh, FOMO hit hard.

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