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About Florence

Oh, and typos—fuckin’ hate typin’ fast—soryy, buddy, deal wth it. I’m ramblin’, but sex escorts? They’re like “Moonrise Kingdom” in reverse—no fairy-tale endin’, just real shit. “What kind of bird are YOU?”—movie line, right? Escorts’d probly say, “The kind that flies solo, asshole.” Love that grit. Anyway, that’s my take—messy, loud, all me. Whatchu think?

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, seriously, Lendinara, you couldn’t have given me a heads up? I duck into a little shop on Via Garibaldi. It’s this cute place selling handmade pasta. I’m talking about the kind that makes your mouth water just looking at it. I grab some tortellini, and the lady behind the counter, she’s all smiles. “You’ll love it!” she says. I’m like, “Lady, I already love you for this pasta.”

Grandfather, sick boy found afloat in Italy