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About Palermo

Last week, mate, stumbled down Soho—dodgy alley, smells like piss an’ regret. Saw this bird, legs fer days, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Wotcha, love?” she goes, smirkin’. Made me happy, her sass, like she owned the night. We swears! Took me back to them movie scenes—sweaty, close, real. “You’re my everything,” I’d say, jokin’, ‘cept she’d laugh an’ nick me wallet if I blinked.

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After that fiasco, I needed a break. So, I hit up the café on Piazza Martiri. Best coffee in town, no joke. I ordered a cappuccino, and the barista, Marco, he’s a legend. He knows my order by heart. I sat outside, soaking up the sun, trying to forget my lab blunder. But then, boom! A pigeon poops right next to me. Like, come on! Can’t a guy catch a break?

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