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About Palermo

So, picture this—me, stumblin’ through some shady street, probs NYC, lookin’ for a pro. Not that I’d ever, but hypothetically, ‘kay? It’s gritty, it’s loud, neon buzzin’ like a bad hangover. I’m mad already—why’s it gotta be so sketchy? Like, can’t they unionize or somethin’? Fun fact: back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris had legit guilds—organized, health checks, the works! Now? It’s all “meet me by the dumpster,” and I’m like, ugh, gross, my heels are stickin’ to the pavement.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

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First off, I hit the streets. I’m strolling down Via Roma, just vibing, when I spot this cute little café. You know, the kind with the outdoor seating and all that? I’m like, “Perfect! Coffee time!” So I grab a cappuccino, and it’s like liquid gold. But then, BAM! Outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my croissant. Like, dude, back off! I’m not sharing with you!

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories