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About Turin

So I’m wanderin, dodgin coppers—fuckin buzzkills, they are. Heart’s racin, thinkin, “This is it, Ricky, ya daft twat!” Then this one bird, proper fit, winks at me. I’m like, “Hello darlin, fancy a go?” She’s all, “50 quid,” and I’m fumin—50 quid?! For what, a two-minute “I drink your milkshake” moment? Bargained her down to 30, cos I’m a cheap bastard. “Time’s a-wastin,” I mutter, Zodiac-style—dramatic, me!

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So, I head to the sheep farm, which is just outside the city. It’s a bit of a trek, but I love the fresh air. The fields are all green, and the mountains in the distance? Gorgeous! But then, I get there, and guess what? The sheep are all riled up. I mean, they’re bleatin’ like they just heard the worst joke ever. Turns out, one of ‘em got loose and was runnin’ around like a maniac.

Maurizio Corbetta, MD