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About Bologna

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

The Village of Calcinelli

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for my morning coffee. You know, the usual spot, Bar Centrale. Best cappuccino in town, no cap. But today? Ugh, the barista, Marco, spills half my drink! Like, dude, I need that caffeine fix! I’m not ready to face the world without my java. I’m fuming, but then he gives me a free pastry. Sweet, right? So, I’m like, “Okay, Marco, you’re forgiven.”

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