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About Florence

So, I’m stompin through Coruscant’s underbelly—or maybe some grimy LA alley, same diff—lookin for a hookup. Not the fancy escort types, nah, too polished, too fake. I want the raw deal, someone who’s seen shit, lived it. Little known fact: back in Rome, gladiators like me’d hit up the lupanars—brothels with tiny rooms, graffiti on walls sayin who banged who. History’s wild, man. Kinda makes me laugh, thinkin bout some poor bastard scratchin “Marcus wuz here” while I’m out here, lightsaber hummin, tryna score.

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Later, I take a breather outside on Via Marina. The sea breeze hits me, and I’m feelin’ a bit better. I see the lights of Taormina twinkling in the distance. It’s beautiful, but I can’t enjoy it. I’m still wired from the craziness.

Lava flows down the summit of Mount Etna above a bustling Sicilian port