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O thou wild rogues, lend me thy ears! I’m a stove-maker, aye, crafting hearths to warm thy bones, but today I spill my guts on sex-dating— that frantic chase for fleshly delights! Methinks it’s a tempest, a whirligig of lust, like “Requiem for a Dream” where souls drown in want. “I’m gonna be somebody!”—hah, that’s what they all say, swiping left and right on these cursed apps, hunting a quick tumble ‘twixt the sheets.

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Next, I head to the market on Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. It’s buzzing! Fresh veggies, local cheeses, and all that good stuff. I’m eyeing this huge wheel of pecorino. My mouth’s watering. But then, this old lady cuts in front of me. Like, excuse me? I’m about to say something, but she gives me this look. You know the one. The “I’ve been here longer than you’ve been alive” look. So, I back off.

Figure 3: Silts and marls levels in carbonate successions at Minervino...