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About Florence

I’m hyped, tho—happy as a clownfish in a coral reef! Why? ‘Cause it’s a puzzle, a mystery, like *Caché*’s weird tapes showin’ up at your door. “Who sent this?” I yell, but it’s just me, overthinkin’ it, sweatin’ like a perch on a grill. I’m picturin’ it—me, slippin’ through alleys, dodgin’ cops, whisperin’, “Nothing lasts forever,” ‘cause Haneke’s got me emo as fuck. Last week, I got mad—some dude tried rippin’ me off, actin’ like he’s pimpin’ the game. I’m like, “Nah, fam, I know my fish *and* my streets!”

Martina Franca: accoltella l’ex moglie, fugge e poi si costituisce

People are cheering, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar. But then, this lady starts yelling at me. “You’re ruining my laundry!” I look over, and she’s got a whole line of clothes flapping in the wind. I’m like, “Lady, I’m saving your neighborhood!” But she’s not havin’ it. I mean, priorities, right?

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