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About Bologna

Thing is, it’s a mixed bag. One night, you’re chattin’ some stunner—legs for days, witty banter—next thing, she ghosts ya faster than a wight in sunlight. Pisses me off, that does! Where’s the honor? “We’re all just meat,” *Leviathan* whispers, and ain’t that the truth—swipe left, swipe right, it’s a meat market out there. But then—oh, then!—you hit gold. Met this lass once, fiery redhead, proper minx—knew her way ‘round a bed better’n I know a cask. Left me grinning like a fool—happy as a pig in shit.

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But then, bam! I step outside, and it’s like the whole town’s in chaos. There’s this parade or something on Via Mazzini. I mean, who has a parade on a Tuesday? Turns out, it’s some local festival. People are dressed up, dancing, and I’m just standing there like a deer in headlights. I’m a forester, not a party animal! But hey, I can’t resist a good show.

Murder in Mondragone: A Case Unfolds