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About Turin

I dove into this sex-dating malarkey, apps buzzin’ like bees. Tinder, Bumble—fie, the choices! Found this lass, curves like a fresh-baked bun, and we chat. She’s all “wyd,” I’m like “bakin’, thou?” Next thing, we’re meetin’ at some dodgy pub. Heart’s poundin’—will she ghost? She don’t! Happy as a pig in mud, I was. But then, mate, she starts yappin’ ‘bout her ex mid-date—anger boilin’ like overproofed dough! “Fuck it, we’re done,” I nearly holler, but I chill. “The city’s a cage,” Monty’d say—aye, datin’s the bars.

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Then, I head over to Piazza della Libertà. It’s packed! Kids runnin’ around, old ladies gossipin’, and the gelato shop is buzzin’. I can’t resist. I grab a cone of pistachio. Best decision ever! But then, I see this kid, maybe 10 years old, tryin’ to impress his crush. He trips and falls right into a fountain. Water everywhere! I’m laughin’ so hard, I almost drop my gelato.

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