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About Bari

I dig it tho—freedom, cash, no 9-to-5 bullshit. But then you got the creeps, the weirdos. Pisses me off—some johns think they own you. Nah, fam, it’s a gig, not slavery. *“You’re a mess, Tom Stall”*—that’s me yellin at these clowns in my head. Had a homie who escorted, told me this story—client paid her in rare coins once. Straight up colonial shit, 1700s vibe. She’s like, “What I’ma do with this?!” Hilarious, but lowkey dope—history in your pocket.

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After that, I decide to stroll down Via Roma. It’s a beautiful street, lined with shops and all that jazz. I’m window shopping, just vibing, when I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer doing some insane juggling act. I’m talking knives, fire, the whole shebang. I’m clapping, laughing, and then—WHAM!—one of the knives goes flying! It barely misses this old lady. I swear, her face was priceless. She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Prof. Marie Avellino