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About Bologna

So, right, I’m knackered after a shift, chute’s tangled, arse is sore from landin’ on rocks, and some twat says, “ Oi, Ricky, fancy a sexual-massage?” I’m like, “What, you takin’ the piss? I’d rather wrestle a forest fire blindfolded!” But—hear me out—it’s not all bollocks. Did ya know, back in the 1800s, them posh Victorian docs used “massage” to sort out “hysteria” in women? Yeah, mate, vibrators came from that—fuckin’ wild, innit? True story, google it, I ain’t lyin’!

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After that wild scene, I head back to the station. I’m still laughing, but then I get another call. This time, it’s about a car crash on Via Roma. Ugh, just what I needed. I race over, and it’s a mess. Two cars, both smashed up. I’m thinkin’, “Why can’t people just chill and drive?”

Collision on the Adriatic Coast