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Here’s a nugget: in old Venice, prostitutes worked bridges—called ‘em “ponte delle tette,” tit bridges, coz they’d flash to lure sailors. Wish I’d been there, sippin’ wine, watchin’ the show! Beats skulkin’ round Flea Bottom, dodgin’ rats and cutthroats. Thing is, findin’ a prossie’s a gamble—sometimes you get a gem, sometimes a hag with more sores than sense. “What’s done is done,” like they say in the movie—once you’re in, no backin’ out. Surprised me once, this one gal knew riddles—smart as me, nearly. Kept her an extra hour just to chat. Rare, that.

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I also gotta mention the local diner on South Main – the one with the cracked vinyl booths where I sometimes grab a bite during my break. Their pancakes? Literally to die for. And at night, the little roadside bar near the old railroad tracks (totally off the beaten path) gets lit. The locals there share stories that are so wild they make "Stories We Tell" look like a bedtime fable.

Aliquippa players, coach suspended for in-game altercation ahead of section game vs. Freedom