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About Milan

Love how they own it, tho—struttin, no shame, like, “This is my field, bitches.” Kinda badass, y’know? “I bend down, I pick up,” Varda’s gleaners say—same vibe, takin what’s there. But—ugh—some jerk clients stiff ‘em, no pay. Makes me wanna roar—Rarrgh!—punch a wall. Fair’s fair, assholes!

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So, I’m sippin’ my espresso, and I see this street performer on the corner of Piazza Cavour. He’s playin’ the accordion like he’s in a movie or somethin’. I’m vibin’ with it, right? But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and lands on my head! Like, seriously? I’m a Master of the Forest, not a pigeon perch! I freak out, flail my arms, and spill coffee all over my shirt. Great start, huh?

Figure 1: Wall painting of a church father, with pseudo-Arabic on his...