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About Bologna

What pisses me off? The fakers—ya pay, and it’s just a lousy rubdown. Rip-off! Like Llewyn singin’ his heart out, gettin’ nada. “Hang me, oh hang me,” he’d say—me too, after a bad massage! But when it’s good? Oh, happy days—muscles melt, stress gone, ya feel alive! Surprised me once, heard a guy say it fixed his back—better than a chiropractor! Who knew? I’m ramblin’ now—brain’s jumpin’—but erotic-massage, it’s a hustle, a vibe, a gamble. Ya roll the dice, hope ya don’t get stiffed—pun intended! What’s your take, huh? Tell ol’ Larry!

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First off, I hit up Via Roma for some coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m sippin’ my cappuccino, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the history of Venosa. Apparently, it’s the birthplace of the poet Horace. I’m like, “Cool, but can I just enjoy my coffee?” But nah, he’s all about the ancient ruins and stuff. I’m nodding, but my brain’s like, “Dude, I just wanna sketch!”

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