Viola Station 87: The sight is dismal

Cinders. Ash. Dark, roiling skies. A desolate landscape strewn with rubble. This, dear listener, is where your favorite Fiorentina podcast idiots reach you from. We shriek into the uncaring heavens, hoping to hear an echo that will prove that their are limits to our suffering, but our calls continue into a cold and endless universe, weakening until they vanish without ever seeing an end to the…