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About Catania

Oi, thou saucy knave, hark! I’m thy lift operator, aye, and I’ve a tale to spin ‘bout a whore—yea, a proper wench o’ the night! Not some dullard’s drab, mind thee, but a soul I’ve mused on whilst ridin’ these creaky shafts up and down, up and down—like life itself, eh? Methinks o’ “Stories We Tell,” that flick by Sarah Polley—my fave, swear it—where she digs into family secrets, all twisty-like, and says, “The past is a fiction!” That’s this whore, mate—a riddle wrapped in cheap perfume.

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After we clean up, I’m feelin’ a bit better. But then, I see the kid’s mom. She’s just standing there, scrolling on her phone. I’m like, “Excuse me, your kid just wrecked a whole lifetime of work!” But she just shrugs. Ugh, people!

‘It’s my spiritual sanctuary’