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About Milan

Oh! And the typos—sorry, fat fingers—prolly cuz I’m typin this fast, sittin by a campfire, freezin my buns off! Hah—imagine me hirin a prostitue? Homer’d divorce me faster’n you can say “D’oh!” Nah, I stick to guidin folks up cliffs, not into shady deals. But if ya ever need a laugh—next hike, just yell, “Where’s Snow Bunny?”—I’ll lose it! Hmm… nasal chuckle—crazy world, huh?

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After that, I head down to Piazza del Mercato. It’s buzzing! Vendors shouting, people haggling. I love it! I grab some fresh pecorino cheese. It’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by and knocks my cheese right outta my hands! I’m standing there, cheese-less and furious. I mean, come on!

A reportage in the places of Benjamin Piercy: between Macomer and Badde Salighes the BBC arrives