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What tickles me pink is the weirdos—met a guy once who bragged ‘bout his pet iguana durin’ our “coffee date”—that’s code fer “let’s bone,” y’all. I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ latte, thinkin’, “I’m too old fer this shit,” but also, “Well, ain’t that a hoot?” Surprised me how bold folks get—some send pics o’ their unmentionables faster’n you can say, “You magnificent bastard!” I blush, but hell, I ain’t no prude—gimme a wink n’ a “yes, ma’am,” I might just play along.

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Anyway, after that emotional rollercoaster, I finally found a spot to sit. I’m buried in papers, trying to focus, but my mind keeps wandering. I start thinking about how beautiful Cicciano is. The hills, the old buildings, the vibe. It’s like a postcard. But then, I hear this loud noise outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a parade! A freakin’ parade! In the middle of a Tuesday!

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