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About Catania

So, picture this chick – let’s call her Candy, ‘cause clichés are dope. She’s out there, struttin’ the streets, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. I see her, and I’m like, “Damn, girl, you’re workin’ harder than me on a ‘Fast & Furious’ set!” – Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” She ain’t just some hooker stereotype, nah. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes in Paris ran secret gambling dens – badass, right? Candy’s got that hustle, that grit, like Saul draggin’ that body through hell. "I must survive this," she’d mutter, dodgin’ cops and creeps.

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Finally, I get to the job site near the old castle. You know, Castello di Gradisca? It’s a beauty, but I’m not here for sightseeing. I’m here to blast some concrete. But guess what? My compressor decides to throw a tantrum. Just my luck, right? I’m standing there, tools in hand, and it’s like the universe is laughing at me. “Ha! You thought today would be easy?”

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