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About Bari

So, escort life—grimy, shiny, all at once. I knew this chick, swear to God, worked the streets near some shady-ass pier. She’d tell ya, “Money’s money, motherfucker!” Had a pimp once, beat her senseless—she ditched his ass. Smart girl! Little known fact: back in the ‘80s, escorts ran ads in fuckin’ phonebooks! Yellow pages, baby—wild times! None o’ this app bullshit.

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Finally, I get a grip on the market. Stocks are bouncing back, and I’m feeling good. I’m high-fiving my coworkers, and we’re all pumped. But then, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window on Via G. Matteotti, and there’s a guy on a scooter who just wiped out. I’m like, “Oh man, that’s gotta hurt.” But he pops up like a champ, shakes it off, and rides away. Foggia’s tough, man.

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