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About Florence

I’m thinkin’, man, this ain’t just rubbin’ backs. It’s an art, yo. Gotta know pressure points, like fixin’ a carburetor—too much force, you bust it. Too little, ain’t nobody feelin’ it. I read somewhere, like, ancient China had these massage spots for emperors only. Secret rooms, silk sheets, crazy oils smellin’ like jasmine or whatever. That’s wild! Imagine me, Hannibal, slidin’ into one of those joints—yo, emperor status!

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This work enhances the ethnobotanical knowledge from Northern Italy, specifically Bologna district, and contributes to preserving Italy's plant-based.

First call comes in at 8 AM. It’s this dude, totally frantic, like he’s just seen a ghost or something. “I can’t find my cat!” he yells. I’m like, “Bro, it’s a cat, not a lost treasure.” But I get it, I mean, who wouldn’t freak out? I tell him to check around Via Garibaldi. Cats love hiding in bushes, ya know?

Travel Review: Classical music-lover visits Bologna for the Ocarina Festival