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About Bologna

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! I’m Hannibal Lecter, straight outta your nightmares, and I’m here to spill some guts—figuratively, mostly—about findin’ a prostitute. Ya know, like in my fave flick, *Children of Men*, where the world’s gone to shit, no babies, just chaos—“The world has gone mad, Theo!”—and folks are scrabblin’ for any kinda comfort. Me? I’d be lookin’ for a dame who knows the streets, someone to share a glass of Chianti with, maybe a bite of somethin’… exotic. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s got the guts to match mine.

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So, I’m walking down Via San Giovanni, and I see this cute little market. Fresh fruits, veggies, all that good stuff. I’m like, “Yes! Finally, something nice!” I grab some tomatoes, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s all like, “You know, these tomatoes are the best in the region!” I’m thinking, “Lady, I just want to make a salad.” But she was so passionate, I couldn’t help but smile.

The Carabinieri of the Marcianise company carry out checks on the territory: arrests, reports and reports are made