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About Palermo

So I roll up, all ominous-like. “You either die a hero…” or you pay up, right? This chick—let’s call her Candy—leans in, smirkin’. “Hey, big guy, got credits?” I’m like, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.” She laughs—nervy broad! I respect that. We haggle—20 creds, 30 creds—damn, inflation’s a bitch. She’s got this scar, right across her cheek. “Joker did it,” she says. I’m thinkin’, “Bitch, please, I’d choke him first.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it’s my story!

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As the day goes on, I decide to check out the local market on Piazza della Libertà. Fresh produce, flowers, and all that good stuff. I’m browsing, and I spot this old lady selling tomatoes. She’s got the best ones, so I ask her for a kilo. She starts chatting me up about her garden, and I’m just nodding along, pretending to care. But honestly, her passion is kinda infectious. I leave with my tomatoes and a smile.

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