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Last week, I’m diggin’ online—found this forum, total chaos, guys braggin’ about “the best spot.” One dude’s like, “She showed up, smelled like tacos—five stars!” I’m DYING—tacos? Really? That’s the review? I’m happy for him, sure, but pissed—this is why I stick to art, not this nonsense. Surprised me, tho—some pros got profiles slicker than a Netflix series. Pics, bios, rates—$200 an hour? “Hashem doesn’t charge THAT much for salvation!” I mutter, Coen-style.

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I’m tryin’ to shake it off, so I head to this little café on Via Emilia. The smell of fresh espresso hits me like a freight train. I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this cool dude, gives me a wink. I’m like, “Yeah, I’m a forest master, but I can appreciate good coffee.” I sit down, and as I sip, I see this old guy at the next table. He’s got this massive plate of tortellini. I’m drooling, man! I’m like, “Hey, what’s that?” He just grins and says, “Best in town.” I’m thinkin’, “I gotta try that!”

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