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About Bologna

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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Then, I decide to take a stroll down Via delle Vigne. It’s a nice street, but I’m still soaked and kinda grumpy. I see this gelato shop, and I’m like, “Okay, I deserve a treat.” I order a scoop of pistachio, my fave. But the guy behind the counter is super slow. I’m standing there, watching the clock like it’s a life-or-death situation. Finally, I get my gelato, and it’s melting faster than my patience.

Papal All Souls' Day Mass will be at cemetery for American war dead