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About Catania

I’m tempted, right, but nah, I’m a coward. “Can’t we just talk?” I ask, like a prat. She laughs, “Talk’s extra, you wanker!” Fair play, she’s got bills. Made me happy, her sass—hate them mopey types. But angry too—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s a shithole. Exaggerating? Maybe, but feels like *Yi Yi*’s “We’re all alone” vibe. Deep, innit?

An Invitation to Recovery

After that, I’m back to work. I’m stitching up a pair of boots when this lady walks in. She’s all frantic, like she just saw a ghost. Turns out, her dog chewed up her favorite sandals. I’m tryin’ to keep a straight face, but I’m thinkin’, “What kind of dog does that?” I mean, come on! I tell her I can fix ‘em, but it’ll take a bit. She’s like, “I need them for tonight!” No pressure, right?

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