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About Bologna

I reckon escorts see shit we don’t. Blokes cryin’, beggin’—pathetic, but real. Makes me angry, tho—pimps takin’ cuts, leavin’ ‘em broke. Fuck that noise. Still, some lasses own it—bossin’ it, livin’ large. Happy for ‘em, I am. “The wind’s stopped,” says the girl in *Turin Horse*, all eerie-like. Feels like that when the job’s done—quiet, empty, weirdly heavy.

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After lunch, I decide to check out the views from the Rocca Flea. Climbing up those stairs is a workout, but the view is worth it. You can see the whole valley, and it’s breathtaking. I’m standing there, feeling all philosophical, like, “Life is beautiful, man.” But then I trip on a loose stone and almost faceplant. Classic me, right?

Archbishop from Assisi brings first-class relic of Blessed Acutis to U.S.