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Oh, and get this—some places, prossies used bells to signal they’re open. Ding bloody dong! Imagine that racket in King’s Landing—I’d burn it down, swear. Me, I’d rather sip wine and watch ‘em scramble than join the mess. Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, it’s a laugh, a grind, and a right headache. “I choose violence” if they waste my time—cold disdain’s my shield, innit?

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After the event, I’m walking down Via Cavour, and I spot this cute little gelato shop. I can’t resist. I mean, who can? I grab a cone of pistachio, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m standing there, licking my gelato, and I see this kid trying to ride his bike on the sidewalk. He’s wobbling all over the place, and I’m thinking, “Dude, you’re gonna eat pavement!”

How a Catholic Italian Became a Chabad Rabbi