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About Catania

But escort’s a gig, right? Oldest job, they say—older than dirt. Heard this wild story, some escort in Vegas, back in ‘89, got hired by a dude who just wanted her to read him bedtime stories. Freaky, right? Paid her double to shut up bout it. Cracked me up—imagine that, payin’ for silence! “Purity is a farce,” like that chick in *Moolaadé* says—damn right, escort proves it. Everyone’s sellin’ something, even if it’s fake smiles.

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First off, I head to my shop on Via San Giovanni. It’s a cozy little spot, you know? Just me, my tools, and a mountain of dull knives. I’m sippin’ my espresso, thinkin’ life’s good. Then, BAM! My buddy Marco bursts in. He’s all outta breath, like he just ran a marathon or somethin’. “Dude, you won’t believe it!” he yells. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a festival in town. The Sagra della Castagna! Chestnuts everywhere, man! I’m thinkin’, “Great, I’ll sharpen some knives and then feast!”

At bat with reliever Mike Venafro