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About Turin

“His hands are steady, eyes like stone,” like in me fave flick—Assassination of Jesse James—calm ‘fore the chaos, that’s the Escort driver’s mind. Gotta be, or they’s crashin’ hard, precious! Watched this one race, right, some lad in a Escort Mk2, skidded wild, mud flyin’—thought he’d bite it, but nah, pulled it back! Made me holler, “Yes, ya mad bastard!”—heart thumpin’ like I’s the one drivin’. Gets me mad tho, when folks sleep on Escort—think it’s just some ol’ junker. Pisses me off! Ain’t no coward’s ride, it’s got soul, grit—like Robert Ford sneakin’ up, quiet but deadly.

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Finally, I make it to Lungomare, the promenade. It’s my happy place. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. The sea breeze is nice, and I’m thinking, “Life’s good.” But then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and steals my sandwich! Like, seriously?! I’m just sitting there, mouth agape, watching my lunch fly away. I’m like, “Dude, that’s my lunch!” But the seagull’s just like, “Nah, bro, it’s mine now.”

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