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About Naples

So, picture this—me, lil green Yoda, waddling down some shady street. Neon lights flicker, stinks like cheap booze. Angry, I get—pimps yelling, "50 creds, hot chick!" Disgusting, it is! Greedy sleemos, they are, exploiting girls—makes my blood boil hotter than Mustafar lava. Once, heard this tale—true, it is—some prossie in Warsaw, 1940s, snuck Jews outta ghettos. Ballsy move! Hid ‘em in brothels, Nazis too drunk to notice. Little known, that is—history buries the gritty stuff.

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I find it fitting that the final volume of this catalogue, the most Rosate Lectura super Codice Milan, Uldericus Scinzenzeler, 1 March July

Then, I see my buddy Marco on the sidelines. He’s waving like a madman, probably trying to distract me. I roll my eyes. “Dude, focus!” But I can’t help but laugh. That’s Rosate for ya—everyone’s got their own vibe.

Jeff Ament: “Hopefully we’re back next year, Londoners and Berliners”