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About Bologna

Here I am, mates, in tha wild urban jungle, narratin’ like Sir David bleedin’ Attenborough – calm, rhythmic, watchin’ life unfold. Today, we’re stalkin’ a curious beast: the Ford Escort. Not the posh bird ya pay for a night out, nah, the car, ya muppets! Picture it, a scrappy little motor, buzzin’ round like a bee on a bender. Me fave film, “The Royal Tenenbaums,” pops in me head – “I’m not talkin’ about dance lessons here,” Richie’d say, an’ this Escort ain’t no fancy ride neither. It’s rough, it’s raw, it’s bloody alive!

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After that, I’m walking back, and I see this street performer on Via XX Settembre. He’s juggling fire! Like, who does that? I stop to watch, and it’s actually pretty impressive. I’m clapping, and he gives me a wink. I’m thinking, “Maybe I should take up fire juggling?” But then I remember my last attempt at cooking. Yeah, let’s not.