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About Palermo

Oh, and the oils—gods, the oils! Some smell like heaven, others like a brothel’s trash heap. Pro tip: vetiver’s the shit, earthy, dark—keeps it sexy, not sleazy. Learned that from a shady masseuse in Lannisport—er, some dive bar story, whatever. Point is, sexual-massage can be art or a damn disaster. Choose wisely, or I’ll choose violence—ha! You’re welcome, peasant.

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So, I’m wandering around, and I bump into this little market on Via della Libertà. Fresh veggies, handmade stuff, and I’m like a kid in a candy store. I grab some local cheese and bread. I’m ready for a picnic! But then, I see this old lady selling these weird-looking olives. I’m curious, right? I ask her about them, and she starts telling me this long story about how they’re from some ancient tree. I’m nodding, but inside I’m like, “Lady, I just wanted to know if they’re good.”

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