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About Florence

Still, there’s a laugh in it—bloke I knew, swear he fell for one. Kept goin’ back, bringin’ her chips like a sodding Romeo. “She’s different,” he says, all moony. Yeah, right, pal—different till your wallet’s empty. Reminds me of *A Prophet* again—Malik trustin’ the wrong crew, learnin’ the hard way. “You’re with me or against me,” the streets whisper.

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As the night rolls in, I’m thinkin’ about the day. The ups, the downs, the flat tire, the beach, the seagull. Sciacca’s wild, man. It’s got its quirks, but it’s home. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, maybe a sandwich that doesn’t get stolen. But that’s a different story!

Diane Sciacca Obituary - Chicago, IL