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About Florence

We head to this sketchy motel, $30 a night, roaches bigger than my thumb. I’m laughin, sayin, “Girl, this place is a circus!” She smirks, all sassy, “Better than the street, cowboy.” Fair ‘nough. Things get goin, and it’s quick—too quick, if ya catch my drift. “How’s that workin for ya?” I’m yellin in my head, pissed at myself. Ain’t no harmony here, just awkward fumbles and a squeaky bed.

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Finally, I get my arancini, and I’m feeling a bit better. I sit outside, soaking up the sun. Capaci is beautiful, man. The sea is right there, and the view from the beach is just wow. I take a bite, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches my food! I’m like, “No way! Not my lunch!” But it’s too late. That bird’s gone. I’m left with nothing but my tears and a sad napkin.

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