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About Naples

Heard a story once—true shit, swear it—some prossie in Budapest, back in Tarr’s day, got hired to just *stand* there, silent, for an artsy dude. Didn’t even bang, just stared at her for hours. Creepy, right? But paid her triple! Little known fact—lotta these girls got tales like that, weird gigs, not just the usual. Surprised me, honestly—thought it was all grim, but nah, some hustle’s got flair.

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I get to the shop on Via Garibaldi, and it’s already buzzing. The smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door is killin’ me. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a butcher, not a baker!” But I can’t help it. I’m drooling. Anyway, I start slicing some prosciutto, and this old lady comes in. She’s a regular, always wants the best cuts. I’m like, “Sure, Nonna, I got you.” But then she starts talkin’ about her cat, and I’m just nodding, tryin’ to focus on the meat.

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