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About Turin

Thing that gets me riled up? The dodgy blokes exploitin’ these birds. Makes my blood boil, mate! I’m all for a good time, but when it’s forced? Nah, that’s rubbish! Reminds me of *Moolaadé*—that line, “I won’t let them cut!”—swap “cut” for “pimp out,” and I’m there, swingin’ my mojo to save the day! Happy bit? Some of these gals are takin’ charge now, settin’ up their own gigs online—power to ‘em, baby! Surprised me how smart they play it—usin’ code words, dodgin’ the fuzz. Clever as a fox in a mini skirt!

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I race back to the office on Via dei Pescatori. I’m sweating, my heart’s racing. I grab the papers, and on my way back, I bump into Mrs. Rossi, the sweetest old lady in town. She’s like, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” I laugh and tell her about my day. She just shakes her head and says, “You need to slow down, dear.” If only she knew!

Profughi sbarcano in spiaggia, soccorsi dai bagnanti