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About Naples

So, I met this chick once—Roxy, she called herself. Worked the corner near my buildin’. Red heels, fishnets, the whole deal. I’d see her, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost—like some noir film, ya know? I’d nod, she’d wink. One night, she hops in my elevator—bam! Smells like cheap perfume and trouble. “Goin’ up?” I ask. She laughs, says, “Ain’t I always?” Got me good, that one—sharp as a tack.

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So, I’m like, “No biggie, I’ll just run to the store.” I sprint down to Via Cavour, heart racing. I’m weaving through people, and I swear, some dude almost spills his espresso on me. I’m like, “Bro, watch it!” But he just gives me this look like I’m the problem. Whatever, man.

Shakespeare’s Badass Quarto