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About Turin

So, we starts thinkin’, me and meself—where’s the prossies at? Moscow’s wild, yesss—Red Square’s all fancy, but nah, not there. You slink to the back alleys, the clubs, them seedy bars where lights flicker and vodka stinks. Hiss! Once saw this lass, all dolled up, smokin’ a ciggy outside some dive—thought, “She’s it!” Nope! Just a drunk uni chick, lost as hell—made me mad, wasted me time! Grrr! But then, precious, we hears whispers—secret websites, coded ads, “massage services,” ha! Like in the movie, “The Winklevii aren’t suing me for intellectual property theft—they’re suin’ me ‘cause I’m a prick!”—well, I ain’t no prick, just desperate, eh?

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m heading to the library on Via Matteotti, all excited to edit some articles. I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be productive!” But guess what? The library’s closed! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Are you kidding me?” I mean, who closes a library in the middle of the day? I’m fuming. I could’ve used that time to work on my piece about Copparo’s history. Ugh!

Heroes¿ send-off for World War Two RAF bomber crew laid to rest in Italy 68 years after their plane crashed du