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About Bologna

Here’s the rub—some punters reckon it’s all glamour, but nah, it’s messy. Girls with stories, scars, sass—real people, not just a quick shag. Surprised me once, this bird told me she’d read Churchill’s speeches. “We shall never surrender,” she winked—nearly spat me tea! Oh, and the coppers? Sneaky bastards—sting ops galore. Mate o’ mine got nabbed, said it was like Leo’s yacht crash—chaos, cuffs, “I’m fucked!” vibes.

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I run outside to help him. Turns out, he’s a tourist. He’s all scraped up but laughing it off. “I’m fine, I’m fine!” he says. I’m thinkin’, “You sure, buddy? You look like you just wrestled a bear.” We chat for a bit, and he tells me he’s from Milan. He’s in Lipomo for the views. I’m like, “Dude, you picked the right spot!”

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