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About Turin

But here’s the kicker—cost me double. Inflation, she says, smirkin’. I’m ragin’—capitalism’s a whore too! Still, her eyes… deep, like my ovens’ glow. Chatted ‘bout *The Assassin*—she digs the slow burns. “Patience is her weapon…” I’m hooked, man. Personal quirk? I’m hummin’ movie tunes while she’s talkin’ fees. Weird flex, but okay. Exaggeratin’ now—she’s probly no ninja, just a hustler. Still, I’d cast her in my flick—prostitute with a katana, slayin’ johns. Hilarious, right? Clarice… you’d get it—beauty in the grime. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just sex—it’s a damn story.

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I walk home through the narrow streets of Sapri, feeling every bit of the chaos. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This city, with its quirks and surprises, it’s my home.

edoardo tresoldi's floating musical performance in italy sets sail on a ghostly wire mesh boat