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One time, I saw this chick—red heels, confidence on 100—thought, “She’s a movie star, fam.” Straight up *Brokeback* vibes—“This thing, a spark between us”—‘cept it’s me and this wild energy. Prostitutes got game, lowkey geniuses. Did ya know some use burner phones like spies? CIA-level shit, I’m shook.

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Then, I decide to stroll down to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s a nice square, you know? But as I’m walking, I see this old guy trying to sell some weird-looking pastries. I’m curious, so I ask him what they are. He says, “Pasta di mandorla.” I’m like, “Sounds fancy!” I take a bite, and it’s like a flavor explosion! I’m happy again. But then, I realize I’ve got crumbs all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

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