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About Turin

Hate the games, hate the fakes. People catfishin’—postin’ pics from 10 years ago. One chick said, “I’m your animal,” straight from “The Master.” Turned out she was 50, not 30. Lied like a rug. Made me wanna scream. Still, some poor saps find love—good for ‘em, I guess. Me? I’d rather grill steak than date randos. Sex-dating’s a dumpster fire—stay away, friends.

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After that, I needed a breather. I walked down to the riverside, and the sound of the water calmed me down. I sat on a bench, strumming my guitar again. Just me, the lake, and my thoughts. I started writing lyrics about my day. It was all over the place, but that’s how I roll. I’m scribbling down lines about the old dude, the kid, the cat, and the olives. It’s a mess, but it’s my mess.

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