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About Bologna

She’s a rose in concrete, metaphors spillin’ like lean. “Her skin’s a map of tears,” like in the movie, quiet pain screamin’. I’m thinkin’, how she laugh tho? Sarcasm drippin’, she said, “Wayne, I fuck for freedom.” Freedom? Shit, that’s a bar! I chuckled, but it’s heavy—trapped in a game, no exit.

So you want to book a sex worker?

Then I stroll down to Piazza della Libertà. It’s this cute little square, right? I’m just soaking in the vibes when I see this street performer. He’s juggling, and honestly, he’s not half bad. But then, outta nowhere, a pigeon swoops down and knocks his hat off! I’m dying laughing. The guy’s face was priceless. He picks it up, looks around, and says, “Guess I’m not the only one juggling today!” Classic.

Celtic Swing Dies in Italy