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About Turin

But then—boom—anger hits. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, don’t even brush before a gig. Disgustin’, right? Makes me wanna yell, “This is not the way!” Like in *A History of Violence*—quiet life, then chaos. Escorts got that too—calm chats, then dodgy blokes. One told me—get this—bloke paid her in fake gold teeth once! Swear, nearly spat my tea laughin’. Little known fact: back in Victorian days, escorts sometimes doubled as tooth-pullers. Wild, eh? No NHS then, just pluckin’ molars for a quid.

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I’m tryin’ to fix it, but it’s like it has a mind of its own. I’m sweatin’ bullets, cursing under my breath. “C’mon, you old hunk of metal!” I’m practically begging it. Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Marco strolls in. He’s got that goofy grin, and I’m like, “Dude, not now!” But he’s all hyped about some festival in the piazza. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, but my furnace is about to blow!”

The Italian town that banned cricket