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About Milan

So, sex-dating, right? It’s this blurry mess, like that movie I love, *The Headless Woman*. You seen it? Lucrecia Martel’s a freakin’ master! There’s this chick, Vero, drivin’ along, smack—hits somethin’, maybe a kid, maybe a dog, who knows? She’s all dazed, stumblin’ through life, not even sure what’s real. That’s sex-dating, fam! You’re swipin’, chattin’, thinkin’ you’re hot shit, then boom—ghosted! “I don’t know what happened,” like Vero says, all confused. You’re left wonderin’ if that hot chick even existed or if you’re just a dumbass.

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Then, I swing by the market on Piazza della Libertà. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, cheese, and those pastries—don’t even get me started. I grab a cornetto, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, knocks my coffee all over my shirt. I’m like, “Seriously?! I just got this!” I’m fuming, but then I see the kid’s face. He’s all wide-eyed and apologetic. Can’t stay mad at that, right? So I just laugh it off.

Stories without history: traces of men in war (1914-1918)