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About Bologna

So I’m watchin’ her, tailin’ her, cause somethin’s off—gut screamin’ at me. She’s got this walk, y’know, hips swayin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. Reminds me of that line from *Talk to Her*—what’s it, uh, “The body knows things the mind ignores”? Yeah, that’s her! Body tellin’ a whole damn novel while her mouth’s spittin’ lies. I’m pissed, right? Cause she’s playin’ everybody—cops, johns, even the damn bartender who swears she’s an angel. Angel! Hah! Angel with a rap sheet longer than my ex-wife’s grudge list.

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I get up, dust myself off, and keep goin’. I hit up a gelato shop on Via delle Vigne. I get pistachio, my fave. It’s like a party in my mouth. I’m walkin’ around, lickin’ my gelato, when I bump into an old friend. We start catchin’ up, and it’s all good vibes.

Fig. 1. Ritual ceremony of the Voladores in Papantla, Mexico.