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About Milan

So, picture this—dark alley, stinks o’ piss. We hates it! This lass, she’s there, all tarted up. “What’s yer price, love?” I croaks. She eyes me like I’m a bleedin’ toad. Fair enough—I am! Made me mad, tho. Why’s she judgin’? I got coin, don’t I? Little fact—back in Victorian times, prossies had secret signals. Hand on hip meant “I’m game.” Hers was glued there, ha!

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Calcinelli.

We end up grabbing a gelato at Gelateria Calcinelli. I get the pistachio, and she goes for the classic stracciatella. We’re laughing, reminiscing about old times. It’s like no time has passed. But then, I spill gelato all over my shirt. Classic me, right? I’m mortified, but she just giggles.

COMPETRINI, Elio