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About Milan

What suprises me? How normal it feels. Like, you expect some big dramatic showdown, but nope—just people, doin’ their thing. Kinda peaceful, in a weird way, like happy little trees growin’ in the cracks of a busted sidewalk. Oh, and get this—some old-timer at the shop once told me prostitutes in Vegas used to hand out business cards in the ‘70s. Straight-up professional! Cracked me up, imaginin’ Candy with a stack of ‘em, like “Call me, sugar!”

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After that little drama, I finally make it to the festival. It’s packed! Food stalls everywhere. I’m drooling over the arancini. I grab one, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m in heaven. But then, I see this guy trying to sell me some weird-looking gelato. I’m like, “Nah, man, I’m good.” But he insists, and I’m like, “Fine, I’ll try it.” Worst mistake ever. It tasted like a mix of soap and regret. I’m gagging, and he’s just grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Remembering the life of Dino BARAZZA