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About Turin

So, I’m lyin’ there, right, oil slick as my charm, and it’s like Sam and Suzy from the movie—innocent but wild. “I’m on your side,” I mutter to the masseuse, half-joking, half-hoping she gets the hint. The slow strokes? Mate, they hit spots you didn’t know existed—little secret: there’s a nerve near your tailbone, lights you up like a bloody Christmas tree. Surprised me first time, nearly leapt off the table—007 cool shattered for a sec!

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After the event, I’m walking down Via Vittorio Emanuele, still buzzing from that kid’s energy. But then, I see this street vendor selling gelato. I’m like, “Yes, please!” I get a scoop of pistachio, and it’s like heaven in a cone. But then, I drop it. Ugh! I’m standing there, staring at the ground like it betrayed me.

Burning olive trees becomes new reality in southern Italy