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About Catania

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister! I drink and I know things, and lemme tell ya ‘bout brothels—oh, the sweet chaos! Picture this: sweaty bodies, cheap wine, and moans louder than a dragon’s roar. Been to one in Lys once—filthy place, stank of desperation and rosewater. Made me happy, tho—freedom in the air, y’know? Like Godard’s flick, *Goodbye to Language*, all disjointed and raw—“Words kill images,” he says. Brothels? Images kill words there! Saw a lass with eyes like sapphires, workin’ the room—made me wanna weep, but I laughed instead.

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Later, I strolled down to the park by the Villa Comunale. It’s so pretty there, with all the flowers and trees. I sat on a bench, just soaking it all in. But then, I saw this kid running around with a soccer ball, and he kicked it right into my direction! I barely dodged it. I was like, “Dude, watch it!”

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