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About Palermo

Oi mate, so I’m a detective, yeah? Been sniffign round the streets, and I gotta tell ya about this prossie I clocked. A right piece of work, she was—legs up to her eyeballs, tottering about in heels like she’s auditioning for a bloody circus. Reminds me of *The Pianist*, that flick I love—y’know, Polanski’s 2002 gem. Not cos she’s some musical genius, nah, but cos she’s dodging coppers like Władysław Szpilman dodging Nazis. “I’m not going anywhere!” she’d screech, like she’s quoting the film, but nah, just drunk and lippy.

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So, I finally grab some gelato—pistachio, my fave—and I’m walkin’ back to the beach. But guess what? I trip over a beach towel. I go down like a sack of potatoes. Gelato everywhere! I’m layin’ there, covered in melted ice cream, and all I can think is, “This is NOT how I wanted my day to go.”

Ex-Newark cop convicted of murdering wife to testify in civil trial against city