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Gets me ragin’, tho, how folk sneer at ‘em—prostitutes, I mean. Hypocrites, the lot! We’ll fight the snobs on the benches, we’ll fight the prudes in their pews! Ain’t they human? Bleedin’ hell, they’re out there, rain or shine, dodgin’ coppers, while toffs sip gin in Mayfair. Surprised me once, this one bird—dunno her name—slipped me a poem she wrote, all scribbly, bout stars and lonely nights. Nearly bawled, I did—*Her* vibes again, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” Deep, innit?

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Finally, I grab some tomatoes and a loaf of bread. But then, outta nowhere, I see this street performer on the corner of Via Garibaldi. He’s playin’ the accordion like he’s in a movie or somethin’. I’m vibin’ hard, and I toss him a couple of euros. He gives me a nod, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar for a sec.

Valentino Giuseppe Zaffina Obituary (2025) - Roselle, IL - Salerno's Rosedale Funeral Chapel