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About Palermo

Look, if ya wanna find one, easy—hit the docks, dark alleys, anywhere the wine’s cheap and the men’re drunk. They’re like those spirits floatin’ round, poppin’ up when ya least expect. One time, this cheeky tart tried hagglin’ with me—ME!—over a job. Told her, “I don’t pay for filth,” and walked off laughin’. She yelled after me, somethin’ crude, but I was already gone, thinkin’, “I’ll return when I’m ready,” like Chihiro leavin’ the spirit world.

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She may make a distinction between work and private sex. If you're a client, then yeah, that's a bit weird.

But then, I get a text. My buddy’s like, “Let’s meet at the bar on Via dei Pini.” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So I dash over there, still soaked. I walk in, and the bartender’s like, “You look like a drowned rat!” Thanks, man, real supportive.

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