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About Milan

Alright, so escort, huh? Lemme tell ya, as a sarcastic bastard who translates Russian Sign Language—yeah, I’m that guy—it’s a freakin’ wild ride. Escorts, man, they’re like the unsung heroes of the night, right? Everybody lies, tho. They’ll tell ya it’s all glamour, cash, and champagne, but nah—half the time it’s dodgy motels and creeps who don’t tip. I mean, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”—that flick’s my jam, y’know? That dude trapped in his head, blinkin’ out his story? Escorts got their own version of that—trapped in a life they didn’t script, smilin’ through the bullshit.

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I stroll down Via Garibaldi, and it’s packed. People everywhere, shouting, laughing, haggling over tomatoes. I mean, who knew tomatoes could be so dramatic? I’m just trying to navigate through the crowd when I spot this old lady. She’s got this massive bag of oranges, and she’s swinging it like a weapon. I’m dodging left and right, trying not to get knocked out by citrus.

Turi Simeti: the Catalogue Raisonné