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About Naples

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, Resnik by trade—yeah, I fix shit, solve problems, all that jazz. Sexual-massage, eh? Hmph, cold disdain dripping here. It’s a messy game, innit? Hands slippin’ everywhere, oil slicker than a Dornish snake. I reckon it’s half pleasure, half power trip—someone’s always kneelin’, beggin’ for mercy. Like in *Inglourious Basterds*, ya know? “You just keep talkin’, Hans…”—that’s me, judgin’ some sleazy git gettin’ a rubdown he don’t deserve.

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As the sun starts to set, I decide to head back. I’m walking down Via Matteotti, and I see this group of locals playing bocce. They’re super into it, yelling and laughing. I stop to watch, and one of them invites me to join. I’m like, “Me? Play bocce? Sure, why not!” I totally suck, but they’re all cheering me on. It’s a blast.

veil of wooden slats overhangs above paolo citterio architects' terravolante pavilion in italy