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About Bologna

So, I’m thinkin’—prostitutes, they’re everywhere, yet nowhere. You don’t just stumble into ‘em like a Starbucks. Nah, it’s shady corners, sketchy ads, or some dude whisperin’ “you lookin’?” in an alley. Back in the day, NYC had this spot—42nd Street, pre-Giuliani cleanup—hookers lined up like a damn buffet. Now? It’s all online, Craigslist got axed, so you’re scrollin’ sketchy sites, prayin’ you don’t catch a virus—computer or otherwise, ha!

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I take a breather, grab a slice of pizza from Pizzeria Da Marco. Best pizza ever, by the way. I’m munching on this slice, and it’s like a slice of heaven. I’m feeling better, but then I get a call from my buddy, Luca. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to this concert tonight!” I’m like, “What concert?” Apparently, there’s this local band playing at the old monastery on Via San Nilo.

Deciphering the Genius of Cy Twombly at Major Centre Pompidou Show