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About Milan

Lemme tell ya, I scoped some corners once, back in ’89. Chicago, cold as hell, steam risin’ from grates. This chick, “Candy”—real name prolly Susan—rockin’ fishnets, shiverin’. I’m like, “Girl, you freezin’ for what?” She laughs, says, “Gotta eat, big man.” Pissed me off—system’s trash, leavin’ folks desperate. But she had grit, ya know? Reminded me of Irene in the movie, holdin’ her own. “A guy can change anything—his face, his home…”—but Candy? She wasn’t changin’ shit, just playin’ the game.

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Then, I get my pizza. It’s perfect. I take a bite, and it’s like heaven. But then, I spill some sauce on my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a mess. I’m sitting there, trying to clean it up, and this old lady at the next table is giving me the side-eye. Like, lady, chill. It’s just pizza sauce!

Migrant reception in Italy: the numbers