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About Catania

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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So, I rush over to the new venue on Via della Pace. It’s a bit sketchy, but I’m desperate. I walk in, and it’s like a scene from a horror movie. The lights are flickering, and there’s this weird smell. I’m thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” But I push through. I’m a community manager, right? I gotta make this work!

Clash at Tecchiena: A Match Marred by Violence