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About Turin

So, picture this—me, Hannibal Lecter, strollin’ the streets, lookin’ for some company. Not to eat ‘em, mind ya—well, maybe a nibble. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” sure, but a gal’s gotta have some fun too, right? I’m peekin’ at these dames, all dolled up, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Makes me happy, seein’ ‘em strut—confidence, power, ya dig? But then, ugh, the creeps lurkin’ nearby—pisses me off. Slimy bastards thinkin’ they own the night. Makes me wanna serve ‘em up with a nice Chianti.

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But wait, there’s more! I head over to the park near the old church, and there’s this group of teens playing music. They’re jamming out, and I can’t help but dance a little. I mean, who doesn’t love a spontaneous dance party? But then, one of them trips and spills their drink all over me. I’m like, “Really? Is this my life now?”

In Puglia a mini arts residency in a social-housing courtyard