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About Catania

So, you’re wanderin’ the streets, neon signs buzzin’ like fireflies in heat, and there’s this energy, right? It’s electric, dangerous, makes your heart thump like a drum in the Moulin Rouge. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a pint—it’s a dance, a game, and you gotta know the steps. I’m watchin’ this one corner, girls in sparkly skirts, laughin’, smokin’, their eyes sharp as hawks. Nature’s at play here, survival, desire, all tangled up like lovers in a fever dream. “Come what may,” they seem to say, tossin’ their hair, darin’ you to step closer.

"When the sun falls beneath the sea, you emerge. And I never know how to feel."

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While I’m sitting there, I notice this old man feeding pigeons. He’s got this whole routine, and it’s oddly mesmerizing. I’m thinking, “Man, I should take notes. This guy’s got it figured out.” But then, the pigeons start fighting over the crumbs, and it’s chaos! I’m laughing so hard, I almost forget about my fish mission.

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