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About Palermo

Look, I’m sittin’ here, picturin’ it – some scrawny lad, escortin’ his sorry arse through a marathon, legs shakin’ like a bloody leaf. Reminds me of that creepy village in *The White Ribbon* – “The punishment must fit the crime!” – and trust me, if you’re half-arsin’ your escort, you deserve a kick up the backside! Haneke’d get it – all that tension, silent screamin’, it’s the same vibe. Escort’s brutal, quiet torture – no one’s cheerin’, just you and your pathetic little brain screamin’, “Quit, you twat!” But you don’t, do ya? Cos you’re a stubborn git!

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Finally, I get my coffee, and I’m feeling good. I stroll down to Piazza della Libertà, soaking in the vibes. The market’s buzzing, vendors shouting about fresh produce. I’m eyeing some juicy tomatoes when BAM! A kid runs into me, and my coffee goes flying. I’m like, “Nooooo!” It’s like a slow-motion scene. My precious cappuccino splattered everywhere. I’m standing there, half in shock, half ready to yell. But the kid just giggles and runs off. Kids, man. They have no idea.

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