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About Turin

Oh, typos? Prolly gonna mess up—whatevs. I’m typin’ fast, feelin’ it. She’s tellin’ me bout this john, total creep—tried to stiff her. I’m like, “Nuh-uh, you slay him next time!” She grins, “Already did, boo.” Fierce! I’m proud, but—damn, why’s it gotta be this way? Slay!

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So, I’m outta bed, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be lit!” I grab my coffee from that little café on Via Dante Alighieri. You know the one? The barista there, Marco, he’s a legend. Always knows my order. But today, he’s like, “Sorry, we’re outta your fave blend.” Ugh, I was ready to throw my cup at the wall. But I just smiled and took a cappuccino instead. Not the same, but whatever.

Pain and tragedy on May Day: drownings in Massa Marittima, Acqualagna and Calolziocorte