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About Bologna

So, listen up, you twat! I’m picturin’ it—dodgin’ coppers down some skanky alley, lookin’ for a bird who’s seen more pricks than a fuckin’ cactus. “What’s your name?”—like I’d ask that shit, straight outta the movie, but nah, it’s more like, “Oi, love, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—fuckin’ hell—kinda thrilling, yeah? Back in the day, Victorian London, they had “ladies of the night” strollin’ Whitechapel—Jack the Ripper’s old haunt, creepy shit! Bet they didn’t expect some sweaty chef like me judgin’ em now, eh?

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But then, I get a text. My buddy’s like, “Let’s meet at the bar on Via dei Pini.” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” So I dash over there, still soaked. I walk in, and the bartender’s like, “You look like a drowned rat!” Thanks, man, real supportive.

Unveiling the University of Naples Parthenope