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About Palermo

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, biblical rain. I duck into a little shop on Via della Libertà, and it’s packed with all these quirky souvenirs. I’m browsing, and I find this ridiculous magnet of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I’m like, “Who even buys this stuff?” But I can’t resist. I buy it, just for the laughs.

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