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About Bari

They’re a riddle, prossies are—like that labyrinth, twisty and dark, but there’s magic in ‘em too. “Take this, it’s my gift,” one said once, slippin’ me a fag—cheeky mare! Reckon they’re the real rebels, fightin’ a war no one else sees. We shall fight, I say, for their bleedin’ right to be human! So yeah, next time you pass one, tip yer hat—don’t be a prat about it. They’re legends, mate, legends in a fucked-up fairy tale.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring rain. Like, seriously? I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughing, though, because it’s just so typical. I duck into a café on Via Roma again, and guess who’s there? Marco! He’s like, “Back for more?” I’m like, “Dude, I need a boat, not a coffee!”

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