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About Milan

Saw one once—real close—skirt hiked up, eyes dead as roadkill. Chilled me, Clarice… like a deer smellin’ the hunter. Made me mad—fuckin’ world chews ‘em up, spits ‘em out, and nobody blinks. Little factoid for ya: back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves.” Poetic, right? Bullshit too—ain’t no doves here, just pigeons shittin’ on pavement. Surprised me tho, how she laughed—sharp, like glass breakin’. “Memory is a strange thing,” Bauby whispered in that movie. Hers? Probly a mess of johns and neon.

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Then, my boss walks in. Ugh. He’s in a mood. He starts ranting about some client who’s late on payments. I’m like, “Dude, chill. It’s not the end of the world.” But he’s all worked up, and I’m just trying to keep my head down and get through the day.

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