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About Bari

Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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I keep walking, trying to shake it off. I hit up the market at Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II. Man, the colors! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of fresh bread. I’m like a kid in a candy store. I grab some tomatoes, thinking I’ll make a killer pasta later. But then, this old dude starts yelling at a vendor. Like, chill, bro! It’s just tomatoes!

Clutch save: S.I. court officer revives cardiac-stricken prisoner on NYS Thruway