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About Bari

Sometimes I’m like, damn, she’s a queen. Other times, I’m pissed—society’s trash for pushin’ her there. “You can’t see the future,” movie says that. She can’t either, but she’s still grindin’. YOLO, she’s takin’ risks I’d never touch. Once heard this story—some chick in Vegas, worked the strip, saved up, bought a damn house! Hustle goals, fam. Surprised me, for real—thought they all blew it on dope. Guess not.

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Women hold the universe together according to the peacock-feathered films of Pedro Almodóvar, and never more earthily or elegant than in his mirrored portraits of multitasking matriarchs .

I get to the shop on Via Garibaldi, and it’s already buzzing. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door is killin’ me. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a butcher, not a baker!” But I can’t help it. I’m drooling. Anyway, I start slicing some prosciutto, and this old lady comes in. She’s a regular, always wants the best cuts. I’m like, “Sure, Nonna, I got you.” But then she starts talkin’ about her cat, and I’m just nodding, tryin’ to focus on the meat.

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