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Hooked up once—girl was chill, smelled nice. Thought, “This is it, Chewie’s in!” Then she bailed mid-date—said I growled too much. Fair, I guess. Still, felt like *Timbuktu*’s “silent suffering”—all moody and shit. Sex-dating’s a gamble, fam. Sometimes you’re the cow, grazin’ free—other times, you’re meat. Oh, and don’t get me started on dick pics—every dude thinks he’s Picasso. Rarrgh! Trash.

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After that, I head over to Piazza della Libertà. It’s usually buzzing with life. But today? It’s like a ghost town. I’m thinking, “Where is everyone?” Then I remember, it’s market day! I rush over to the stalls, and wow, the fresh produce is insane. I grab some tomatoes and a loaf of that amazing local bread. But then, I see this old lady trying to haggle. She’s fierce! I’m talking full-on Italian grandma mode. She’s waving her hands, yelling in dialect. I can’t help but laugh.

A former fisherman's shed becomes a micro art gallery in the Marche region