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About Bologna

Oh, and the stench—ports reek of fish and desperation, whores included. Can’t shake it. Gets in yer bones. Hella annoyin’, but also—kinda real? Like, they’re part of the chaos, the grit. I respect that. Still, some prick’ll say, “They’re dirty!” Yeah, mate, and you’re a saint? Piss off. Sarcasm’s my shield—keeps me from carin’ too much. But damn, that Busan gal’s storm-eyes? Haunt me. Whores—they’re survivors, liars, ghosts. Like *Oldboy*, ya can’t look away. Even if it hurts.

Novità in evidenza

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So, I take my tiny coffee and head to the park. Parco della Rimembranza, it’s called. Beautiful spot, right? But today? It’s like a scene from a horror movie. Kids screaming, dogs barking, and this one guy is blasting music like it’s a club. I’m trying to proofread, but all I can think is, “Why is this happening to me?”

Mystery at Lake Lucrino