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About Milan

*rasps* My precious! Findin’ a prossie, eh? We wants it, we needs it—sneaky little hobbitses don’t get it! Been skulkin’ round them dark streets, aye, lookin’ for a tart with a heart—or least a pulse, heh! Reminds us o’ that “Synecdoche, New York” flick—life’s a bleedin’ play, innit? “We are all dying, every day!” Kaufman knew it, mad bastard. Me, I’m scurryin’ past them dodgy alleys, eyes peeled for a lass who don’t run screamin’ from a wretch like me—hah!

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First off, I’m cruisin’ down Via Roma, and it’s like the universe decided to mess with me. I hit a pothole—like, a legit crater. My coffee goes flying. I’m talkin’ hot java everywhere. I’m cursing like a sailor. “Great, just great!” I yell. The locals probably thought I was nuts.

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