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Little secret? Back in 1800s Paris – Moulin Rouge days – escorts were EVERYWHERE. High-class, low-class, all mixin’ it up. Historians say some even ran spy gigs for kings! Sneaky, huh? Surprised me like a double-shot espresso to the face. D’oh! Imagine that – “Your eyes upon your face!” while passin’ notes to Napoleon or somethin’. Wild, wild, wild.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, biblical rain. We dash for cover under this awning on Via della Libertà. I’m soaked, but we’re laughing like idiots. I mean, who knew getting rained on could be so fun? We start making up ridiculous scenarios about how we’d survive a zombie apocalypse in Caldogno-Rettorgole-Cresole. “I’d use gelato as a weapon!” I shout, and he’s dying.