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About Turin

This one time, I’m chattin’ her up, she’s all, “What you want, boo?” I’m stutterin’, actin’ dumb, and she hits me with, “Time’s money, let’s go.” Cold as ice! Made me mad, like—bitch, I’m Drake, respect the name! But also, lowkey, I was hyped—she owned it. Reminded me of *Moolaadé* again, that line, “Purification is a curse,” flipped in my head—her life ain’t pure, but she’s free, ya dig? Got me emotional—happy she’s real, pissed at the game she’s stuck in.

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So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I grab my coffee and head to the park, Parco della Rimembranza. It’s a nice spot, ya know? Trees everywhere, kids playing, and old folks chillin’. I sit down, take a sip, and boom! A pigeon decides my lap is the perfect landing pad. I’m like, “Dude, not cool!” I shoo it away, and it just looks at me like, “What’s your problem?”

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