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About Milan

Drivin’ one? Oh, honey, it’s a hoot! My cousin Buford had a beat-up ‘89 Escort, red as a rooster’s comb, and that thing rattled like my knees after a long show. We’d pile in, six of us—don’t ask how, we was skinny back then—and zip to the drive-in. Felt like “a paradise lost,” like in “Tabu,” cruisin’ with no cares, just laughin’ and prayin’ it wouldn’t stall. Surprised me how it kept goin’, tough lil’ bugger! I’d holler, “This car’s got more heart than me after three whiskeys!”

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Finally, I grab some fresh tomatoes and a chunk of that amazing Gorgonzola. Yum! But then, I see this street performer on the corner of Piazza della Libertà. He’s playing the accordion, and honestly, he’s not half bad. I stop to listen, and before I know it, I’m clapping along. It’s like a mini concert!

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