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About Catania

So, prostitutes—where’d ya even start? Back in the day, like 1800s London, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—fancy, huh? Kinda sad too. Makes me mad thinkin’ how they got no choice sometimes. I’m walkin’ down this sketchy alley—R2-D2, where you at, buddy?!—and there’s this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a wall. “Hey, goldenrod,” she says, smirkin’. I’m like, what, me? Goldenrod? That’s some Star Wars-level shade!

A legal activity, but know the limits!

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So, I head over to the church, Chiesa di San Giovanni Battista. Beautiful place, man. The frescoes are stunning. But today, the vibe was off. I walk in, and there’s this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I’m thinking, “C’mon, guys, this is a holy place!” But they didn’t care. I tried to intervene, but they just looked at me like I was a ghost. So, I backed off. Not my circus, not my monkeys, right?

Cellist Hauser in concert at Villa Manin in July