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About Florence

We haggle—me charm’s workin’ overtime. “I’m not here to judge,” I say, nickin’ that movie line. She softens up, says, “Alright, £30, quick one.” I’m chuffed—feelin’ like I’ve nailed a corporate merger! We sneak out back, past the bins—romantic, innit? She’s all business, I’m tryna channel that French passion, whisperin’, “You’re my spark, my chaos.” She rolls her eyes—fair play, I’m a prat.

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Anyway, I finally make it to my studio on Via San Giovanni. It’s cozy, filled with clay and dreams. I’m all set to throw some pots. But then, my buddy Marco shows up. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta see this!” And I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a festival in the piazza. I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need. More distractions.” But Marco’s all hyped, so I’m like, “Fine, let’s go.”

‘It’s my spiritual sanctuary’