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About Bologna

She’s got this vibe, Clarice… like she’s seen too much, eyes all hollowed out, but still kickin. I ain’t mad at her hustle—girl’s gotta eat, right? But damn, it pisses me off seein her out there, dodgin creeps and cops, when I’m hammerin nails, sweatin for a buck. Once heard she sweet-talked some john outta his wallet—didn’t even touch him! Just purred real sweet, “Buy me a burger, sugar,” and bam, he’s broke, she’s eatin fries. That’s some next-level carpenterin, buildin a scam outta nothin!

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By noon, I’m running on caffeine and sheer willpower. I grab a quick bite at this little café near the fortress. The owner, Maria, knows me. She’s like, “You look like you need a break.” I’m like, “Yeah, but the city’s on fire!” She laughs and hands me a slice of torta della nonna. Best thing ever. I swear, it’s like a hug in dessert form.

Figure 8: Ignazio Fabroni, Portoferraio in 1673 (Detail).