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About Catania

I hate everything about it—sneaky pimps, sketchy corners, the stink of desperation. Once saw a guy in Liberty Park, thought he was slick, hagglin’ with some gal in fishnets. Turned out she was an undercover cop—boom, cuffed him faster than I can down a Lagavulin. Laughed my ass off, stupid bastard deserved it. Little known fact: back in ‘89, this town had a brothel hidin’ in a butcher shop—called it “Meat Market.” Cops raided it, found a ledger with half the council’s names. Surprised? Nah, pissed me off—hypocrites everywhere.

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First off, I hit the road on Via Roma. You know, the main drag. It’s like the heartbeat of this place. I’m cruising, coffee in hand, feeling all good. Then BAM! A pigeon decides to take a dump right on my windshield. Like, really? Thanks, Mr. Pigeon. Just what I needed.

“Romanzo del Prosecco - Prosecco Blues”: Prosecco’s two hundred year history in music and words