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About Catania

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk about somethin’ juicier—whore. Not just any whore, mind ya, but the vibe, the idea, the bloody mess of it all. I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ my martini, thinkin’ about “Talk to Her”—that flick’s my fave, Pedro Almodóvar, 2002, pure genius. Got that line stuck in me head: “There’s nothing more alive than a wound.” Whore’s like that, innit? A wound that keeps bleedin’, keeps livin’.

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So, I’m grumbling, trying to shake it off. I head to the piazza, you know, Piazza della Libertà? It’s usually buzzing with life. But today? Crickets. Just me and a couple of pigeons. I swear, those birds were judging me. I could feel it.

Four friends are found guilty of kidnapping British ex-public schoolboy, 26, in Italy in ransom plot