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About Catania

Sometimes I’m like—damn, she’s trapped, y’know? Hustle’s brutal, body on the line, no 401k in sight. But then—BOOM—she flips it, owns it, makes me proud. YOLO, she’s livin’ it, no regrets. Maybe I’m romanticizin’ it, but that’s my quirk, seein’ beauty in the grit. Prostitutes ain’t just a job, fam—they’re a vibe, a hustle, a middle finger to the system. “The town’s in chaos,” like the movie says, but she’s still standin’. Respect.

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After that, I’m feeling a bit better. I head to Piazza della Libertà. It’s buzzing! Street performers, food stalls, people everywhere. I grab a slice of pizza. Best pizza ever! I mean, it’s Pontevico, how can it not be? I’m munching, and this guy starts juggling. He drops a ball, and it rolls right to me. I toss it back, and he gives me a wink. I’m like, “Yeah, I’m a part of the show now!”

Fig. 11: Bersaglieri parading in their typical fast jog pace (Pontevico).