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About Milan

Oh, and the smells—gods, the oils! Lavender, sandalwood, whatever—mixes with skin and it’s a bloody battlefield stench. Reminds me of Tarantino’s flick—“That’s a bingo!”—when it’s good, it’s *good*, ya feel me? But when it’s bad, ugh, I’d rather gut a Nazi with a rusty blade. Personal quirk? I’d demand silence—none of that “relax, m’lady” crap. Shut it, or I’ll carve ya like Aldo Raine carves swastikas.

Saunas Padova

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Finally, the day winds down. I’m exhausted but kinda happy. I mean, Mejaniga is wild. It’s got its quirks, its chaos, but that’s what makes it home. I grab a slice of pizza from my favorite spot, Pizzeria Da Marco. Best in town, no contest. I sit on the steps of the church, just watching the world go by.