Madison Capriolo Brothel ❤️

About Catania

Now, *Brooklyn*—Eilis says, “I’d forgotten what this feels like,” meanin’ home, love, all that mush. Brothels ain’t that, nah—they’re quick, dirty, an’ ye leave feelin’—what’s the word?—empty? Aye, empty as me rum bottle on a bad day. Surprised me, first time I tumbled in one. Thought it’d be grand, all swagger an’ charm, but nah, just sad blokes an’ sadder lasses. Made me gut twist, seein’ ‘em stuck there.

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So, I roll into Capriolo, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m feeling all kinds of good vibes. But then, bam! I hit traffic on Via Garibaldi. Like, seriously? It’s a small town! How’s there traffic? I’m sittin’ there, fuming, thinking about how I could be sipping that cappuccino instead of staring at some dude’s bumper sticker that says “I love Capriolo.” Yeah, buddy, I get it.

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