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On Twitter, he went by — a name that looked like a typo waiting to happen, but once you found him, you never forgot him.
Samuele Cunto wasn’t famous. He had no blue checkmark, no brand deals, no viral meltdowns. His profile picture was a grainy photo of a cat sleeping on a stack of books. His bio read: “Collector of footnotes. Here for the long threads.”
Samuele clicked on the son’s profile. He scrolled back years. He found the father’s old, inactive account: @cunto_samuele. Only 47 tweets. Mostly about gardening, a few about local politics, one photo of a homemade tiramisù.
On Twitter, he went by — a name that looked like a typo waiting to happen, but once you found him, you never forgot him.
Samuele Cunto wasn’t famous. He had no blue checkmark, no brand deals, no viral meltdowns. His profile picture was a grainy photo of a cat sleeping on a stack of books. His bio read: “Collector of footnotes. Here for the long threads.”
Samuele clicked on the son’s profile. He scrolled back years. He found the father’s old, inactive account: @cunto_samuele. Only 47 tweets. Mostly about gardening, a few about local politics, one photo of a homemade tiramisù.