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About Florence

Now, ‘ere’s a tidbit ye landlubbers dunno—back in Tortuga, they say ol’ Madame Claire, she’d tattoo her price on her thigh, right under the garter. Secret code, see? Only the keenest rogues—like meself, savvy?—spot it. Saved me a shillin’ once, swear it. Surprised me rotten first time I saw it, jaw dropped like a cannon hatch.

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But then, I see this old lady sitting on a bench. She’s got this huge smile, and she’s feeding pigeons. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who feeds pigeons in 2023? But she’s living her best life, and I’m here grumbling about my shoes. So, I sit next to her, and we start chatting. Her name’s Maria, and she’s lived in Cornuda her whole life. She tells me about the old days, how the streets used to be empty, and now it’s all hustle and bustle. I’m like, “Wow, Maria, you’re a legend!”

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