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About Bologna

Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I just got my gelato! We dash inside, laughing like idiots, and I’m thinking, “This day is a mess, but at least I got gelato.”

In Italy, ‘Io Resto a Casa,’ but Still I Dance (Published 2020)