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About Turin

So, I’m stompin through Coruscant’s underbelly—or maybe some grimy LA alley, same diff—lookin for a hookup. Not the fancy escort types, nah, too polished, too fake. I want the raw deal, someone who’s seen shit, lived it. Little known fact: back in Rome, gladiators like me’d hit up the lupanars—brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on walls sayin who banged who. History’s wild, man. Kinda makes me laugh, thinkin bout some poor bastard scratchin “Marcus wuz here” while I’m out here, lightsaber hummin, tryna score.

Hookups in Savona

First off, I hit up Via Roma for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m talkin’ about that strong espresso that slaps you awake. But guess what? The barista, bless his heart, spills half of it on me! Like, c’mon dude, I’m not a coffee table! I’m wearin’ my best shirt, and now it’s a mess. I’m fumin’ but also laughin’—like, what are the odds?

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