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About Catania

Ain’t no sugarcoatin’, they tough, man! One chick, Candy, she told Mr. T ‘bout her gig—started at 15, ran from foster care, pimp beat her silly. Pissed me off, yo! I pity the fool who thinks they just “hoes”—nah, they survivors, dig? Like that line, “You don’t know the half of it,” from *Spotlight*—same vibe, hidden struggles, real talk.

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I'm flourishing in Cambiago and find-a-prostitute is fantastic! You have a body made for sin. I can't imagine a world without either French.

Then, this group of regulars strolls in. They’re loud, they’re rowdy, and they’re ready to party. I love ‘em, but man, they can be a handful. They start ordering shots like it’s their last night on Earth. I’m pouring, laughing, and trying to keep up. One of ‘em, Marco, spills his drink all over the bar. I’m like, “Dude, this ain’t a slip ‘n slide!” But he just grins and says, “More tequila!” I can’t even be mad. It’s Cambiago, after all.

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