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About Turin

What pisses me off? The pimps, man—slimy bastards lurkin’ like vultures. Saw one smack a girl once, nearly lost my shit. Wanted to gut him, serve him up with a nice Chianti. But nah, kept cool—*“Fear is the price of imagination.”* Happy part? When she slipped me her real name—Jenny. Felt human for a sec, not just meat on the menu. Surprised me how some got kids, workin’ to feed ‘em—fuckin’ gutsy.

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But then, bam! A kid runs into me, and my pizza goes flying. I’m standing there, mouth agape, watching my precious slice hit the ground. I’m like, “Nooooo!” The kid looks up at me, all wide-eyed, and I can’t even be mad. I mean, it’s just pizza, right? But still, my heart hurts a little.