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About Turin

Oh, but the rage, precious! Some blokes, they’d hit her, leave her bruised – “Who do you think you are?!” I’d hiss at ‘em in me head, clawin’ the air. Hated that, made me wanna bite somethin’. She’d shrug, tho, tough as old boots, sayin’, “It’s the game, innit?” Game?! More like a bloody cage! Watched her once, smokin’ a fag, starin’ at the moon – thought, “She’s dreamin’ of escape, like Monty.” Maybe she was, precious, maybe she was.

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I keep walking, trying to shake it off. I hit up the market on Piazza della Repubblica. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I’m eyeing these juicy tomatoes, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s like, “You gotta try these, they’re the best!” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m just here for a snack.” But I can’t resist. I buy a bunch, and they’re amazing. Like, I’m ready to start a tomato fan club.

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