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Now, *Under the Skin*, that’s me jam, precious. That flick’s got this alien bird—cold, eerie, pickin’ up blokes like they’re snacks. “Do you want to touch me?” she says, all sultry-like, and bam, they’re mush in her void. Findin’ a prostitute? Kinda like that, innit? Lurin’, dangerous, but real empty underneath. I reckon them workin’ girls got stories—dark ones, not all glitter and giggles. Like, did ya know, back in old London, some brothels had secret tunnels? Rich toffs sneakin’ in, dodgin’ the coppers—wild, eh? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ they’re all “respectable” by day.

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Post-lunch, I wander over to the Parco della Rimembranza. It’s beautiful there. Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the sun shining. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. I start thinking about life, you know? How Lavagno is this mix of chaos and beauty. It’s like a rollercoaster, and I’m just along for the ride.

Fig. 1. Nummular and annular skin eruptions in three boys affected by...