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About Bologna

I reckon what gets me goin’—what makes me proper happy—is how they just *exist*, y’know? No shame, no fuss, just livin’. Like Llewyn, singin’ his guts out for a crowd that don’t care. “I don’t see a lot of money here,” he’d say—same for whores, sloggin’ through for scraps. But they’ve got guts, mate, guts! That’s what I love. Gets me all giddy, thinkin’ bout their sass. Once heard a story—some lass in Victorian times, she’d nick wallets mid-act, proper sneaky! Had me laughin’ for days—cheeky minx.

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Anyway, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and suddenly, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and what do I see? A delivery truck smashed into a lamppost on Via Garibaldi! Like, seriously? Who even does that? The driver’s just sittin’ there, lookin’ dazed. I’m like, “Dude, you good?” He just shrugs. Classic Corbetta chaos, am I right?

Ig Nobel for Dutch research about pedestrians not bumping into each other