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About Bari

So, picture this—I’m in King’s Landing, right? Some shady brothel, stinks of sweat and cheap wine. This lass, she’s got hands like a goddamn sorceress, kneadin’ me like dough. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t half bad,” but then—BOOM—she’s whisperin’ prices for “extras.” Made me mad as hell! I’m like, “What is this, a negotiation?” Reminds me of Anton Chigurh, that cold bastard—calmly askin’ if I wanna die or pay up. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?”—except it’s my dignity, not my life, on the line.

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But then, just as I’m about to cash out, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Marco. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the festa at the castle!” I’m like, “What castle?” Turns out, he means the old castle on the hill, Castello di Termini. I’m thinking, “I just won big! But a festa? Count me in!”

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