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About Florence

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

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But then, as we’re walking back, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out on the ground, and this old guy walks by, shakes his head, and mutters something in Italian. I’m like, “Thanks for the support, dude!”

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