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About Turin

Ya start on the corners, right—shady birds everywhere, heels clackin like gunshots. One lass, swear down, looked like she’d shiv ya soon as shag ya. I’m cacklin, “Oi love, you the killer or the cure?” She blanked me—rude cow! Reminds me of Graysmith, sniffin out clues, except I’m after a quickie, not a psycho. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to nick wallets mid-shag? Crafty mares! History’s full of that—little fact for ya, ya ignorant git.

In Evidenza

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Now I’m getting hangry. I need food. I head to this little trattoria on Via Cavour. I order pasta, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. Seriously, I’m in heaven. But then, the waiter brings me the wrong dish. I’m like, “Um, I ordered the fettuccine, not this mystery meat.” He looks confused. I’m confused. We’re all confused.

An innovative Christmas lighting project recounting Moncalieri’s history