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About Turin

In her dingy flat, all’s a blur—smells o’ gin and regret. She’s quick, no faff, like balancin’ books at month’s end. “Time’s winged chariot,” I mutter, quotin’ the flick, and she’s like, “Wot? Shut up and shag.” Hah! Fair play, lass. Done in ten mins—bang, crash, over. I’m lyin’ there, pantin’, thinkin’ o’ Jean blinkin’ his one eye, trapped, while I just bought me way outta me cage fer a tick.

Veneto Red Light District

First client walks in. This dude, Marco, he’s got hair like a lion. I mean, seriously, bro, it’s like a jungle up there. He sits down, and I’m like, “What’s the plan?” He goes, “Just a trim.” A trim? More like a full-on rescue mission! I’m snippin’ away, and he starts tellin’ me about his date last night. Apparently, he took this girl to that new pizza place on Piazza della Libertà. I’m like, “Dude, did you at least get her a slice?” He laughs, but I can see he’s nervous.

Italy’s Acclaimed Bonci Pizzeria Makes its American Debut in Chicago