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About Palermo

I knew dis one chick—Lena, swear she was half witch. Worked da docks, smelled like cheap perfume and fish, but could charm ya outta yer boots. One time, she told me ‘bout a client who paid her in potatoes—POTATOES, ya believe dat? Laughed my arse off, “Look at me, I’m an outlaw,” she’d say, mockin’ him. Made me happy, her sass, but pissed me off too—why’s she stuck with taters? Deserves gold, dat one.

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After that, we head to Piazza della Libertà. Beautiful spot, right? But it’s packed with tourists. I’m tryin’ to teach him how to parallel park, and all I can think is, “Why are there so many people here?” I mean, it’s a Tuesday! I’m sweating bullets, and Marco’s just giggling.

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