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About Turin

Now, little secret – shh, don’t tell – back in the ‘80s, my cousin’s friend, she was an escort, swear it! Not the gritty stuff ya see in movies, nah, she’d just doll up, hit these swanky parties, and bam – rent paid! I was shocked, like, “Whaaat? You’re livin’ fancy offa that?” Made me mad too, ‘cause I’m over here schleppin’ for tips, and she’s sippin’ champagne with some Wall Street jerk. Ugh, the nerve!

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First off, I hit up Via Cupa, my usual spot for a quick coffee. You know, the one with the old guy who always tries to charge me extra? Yeah, that one. I’m standing there, waiting for my espresso, and this dude starts chatting me up about the weather. Like, bro, it’s Scampia! It’s either hot or hotter. Anyway, I finally get my coffee, and it’s like liquid gold. I take a sip, and boom! I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right?

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