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About Bari

Gets me mad, though—folks sneerin’ at ‘em. Call ‘em filth, but who’s payin’? Hypocrites, fat stupid hobbits, all of ‘em! Me, I respect the hustle. Takes balls, or—well, somethin’—to face the night, the leers, the cold. Happy? Nah, not really—sad for ‘em, sometimes. Heard ‘bout this gal, Marie, worked the docks, sang like a lark. Died young, syphilis. Gut punch, that. Coulda been a violin, her voice—wasted on grimy sailors.

Prostituzione Boltiere, tre poeti cantano la protesta

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Then, I head back to the canal. I’m thinkin’ I’ll catch a few more fish before callin’ it a day. But guess what? My fishing rod snaps! Just like that! I’m standin’ there, holdin’ a broken rod, feelin’ like a total loser. I’m like, “Really? Today of all days?”

Nick Bollettieri