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About Turin

Alright, so I’m a tractor driver, right? And I’m thinkin’ bout brothels—y’know, those shady joints. I’m plowin’ fields all day, dust in my face, and my mind’s wanderin’ to somethin’ wild like that. Pretty, pretty good distraction, huh? I mean, what’s a brothel anyway? A place where folks pay for a quick roll in the hay—hah! Hay! I’m surrounded by it! But serious, it’s nuts—guys linin’ up like it’s a damn buffet. I saw this flick, *Syndromes and a Century*, y’know, my fave—Apichatpong Weerasethakul, genius guy—and there’s this line, “The past is a distant memory,” and I’m like, brothels been around FOREVER, man! Ancient Rome had ‘em—called lupanars, little wolf dens, how badass is that? Wolves! Rawr! Makes me laugh, picturin’ some toga dude sneakin’ out for a romp.

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Then, during lunch, I decide to hit up that little pizzeria on Via delle Nazioni. You know the one? The one with the best margherita in town? I’m standing in line, and this guy in front of me is taking forever. Like, c’mon, dude! It’s pizza, not rocket science! I’m about to lose it when I finally get my slice. And OMG, it was worth the wait. So cheesy, so gooey. I’m in heaven.

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