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About Naples

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

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But then, I decided to stroll down to the Parco dei Moreri. It’s this beautiful park, right? I was just vibing, listening to my tunes, when I saw this family having a picnic. They had this massive spread—like, who brings a whole lasagna to the park? I was low-key jealous. I mean, I just had a tiny croissant.

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