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About Catania

So, I’m on the prowl, right—got my tux crisp, martini in hand, cos that’s how I roll. Findin’ a prossie ain’t just a quick shag, nah, it’s a bloody art. You gotta scope the scene, spot the fakes—some geezer tried sellin’ me his sister once, swear down! Made me proper mad, that did—cheeky sod. But then, this bird struts up, all legs and sass, and I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin’.” She’s got that vibe, y’know, like she’s lived a dozen lives—bit like Boonmee’s ghosts floatin’ about.

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After that, I decide to hit up the library on Via della Repubblica. I’m trying to find some books on cognitive therapy. But guess what? It’s closed! Like, seriously? I’m standing there, staring at the locked door, thinking, “What’s next? A meteor shower?”

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