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Oh, and the typos—soryy, fat fingers, wine’s flowing, y’know? Escorts got stories, too—like that rumor ‘bout some duke in Essos who hired ten at once, then vanished. Probs dead in a ditch, poor bastard—overdosed on “company.” Makes me cackle, imagining his face. Anyway, it’s a game, innit? Escorts play it better than most—sly, slippery, like shadows in that film I love. “The past is a strange place,” movie says, and escorts? They’re living it, dragging it into now. Hate ‘em, love ‘em—can’t look away. You? What’s yer take? Spill it!

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So, I’m cruisin’ down Via Roma, right? Just me and my trusty tractor, bumpin’ along. I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Yeah, right. First off, I hit a pothole so big, I thought I was gonna lose a wheel. Like, c’mon Turin, fix your roads! I swear, I could’ve planted a garden in that thing.

World’s 50 Best Restaurants coming to Turin