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About Florence

I saw one once, rusted to shit, sittin’ in a junkyard—pissed me off, man! How you let a legend die like that? “What am I doing here?” Bob whispers in the movie, and I’m thinkin’ the same damn thing—why’d they let it rot? Fuckin’ travesty. But when it’s clean, pimped out, engine growlin’—happy as a motherfucker, I tell ya! Reminds me of Tokyo lights in the film, all shiny and alive. Escort’s got that sleeper vibe—looks basic, then BAM, smokes your ass at the light. Sneaky lil’ bastard, love that shit.

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After that, I decide to take a break. I head over to Piazza della Repubblica. It’s beautiful there, with all those cute little cafes. I grab a granita—oh man, the best in town! But then, I see this guy trying to sell fake designer bags. Like, dude, really? In Sambuca? You think we can’t spot a knockoff? I’m laughing, but also kinda mad.

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