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About Catania

Yo, so I’m a cashier, right? Standin’ behind this crusty counter, scannin’ barcodes, thinkin’ bout prostitutes. Not in a creepy way, nah, just—y’know—ponderin’. Like, what’s the deal with ‘em? This one chick, man, she comes in sometimes. Buys condoms, Red Bull, and gum. Always gum. Weird combo, right? Prostitute energy, no cap. I’m like, “Girl, you chewin’ through the night?” She don’t laugh. Dead eyes. “The children don’t know why,” I mutter, thinkin’ of *The White Ribbon*. That movie’s my jam—bleak as hell. Villages, secrets, messed-up vibes. Prostitutes prolly fit right in.

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I think about all the craziness of the day. The falls, the food, the pigeons, and the random arguments. It’s like a rollercoaster, and I’m here for it. Sassari, you’ve got my heart, even if you drive me a little nuts sometimes.

Sassari, residential facilities for minors: «A path to be taken as a last resort»