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About Florence

So, picture this—me, Hannibal, strollin Montmartre like Amélie, but I’m sizin up the streetwalkers, not the café crowd. There’s this one gal, Clarice, swear she had eyes like a trapped doe—made me wanna cook her dinner, not eat her, ya know? Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact, ancient Rome had “lupae,” she-wolves, howlin for coin in brothels. Wild, right? Gets me all tingly thinkin bout the history mixin with the filth. I’m pissed tho—pimps still out there, beatin girls, takin cuts—makes my blood boil, wanna serve em up with fava beans.

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So, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? Just me and my coffee, trying to wake up. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” But then, BAM! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic Curti, man. Those stones are like little traps. I spill my coffee all over my favorite shirt. Great start, huh?

Curtis Lee Madson Obituary December 30, 2024