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About Catania

So, findin a prossie—ain’t no highborn quest. You don’t send ravens or polish yer armor. Nah, you sniff the alleys, follow the perfume mixed with piss. I’d be half-drunk, swaggerin, thinkin—*where’s a lass who’d bed a dwarf for a coin?* In *City of God*, Lil’ Zé’d probly shoot me for starin too long, but here? They just want gold, not yer head. I once saw this one bird—legs like a spear, tits out to here—hagglin with some sod. Made me laugh, she’s all “Pay up, you lil shit!”—reminded me of Rocket dodgin bullets, fierce as fuck.

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And guess what? There’s a cat! Up high, looking all majestic. So, I’m trying to be a hero, right? I climb up this rickety ladder. My heart’s racing. I’m thinking, “What if I fall?” But I get the cat! It’s all purring and stuff. I’m feeling like a rockstar. But then, I realize I’m covered in dirt and cat hair. Great.

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