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About Palermo

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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Then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. He’s like, “Hey, we need that shipment to the port ASAP.” I’m like, “Yeah, no kidding!” I mean, I’m not just sitting here twiddling my thumbs! So, I rally the troops, and we start loading like we’re in the Olympics.

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