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About Bologna

But then—ugh—she mentions some pimp, greasy sod watchin’ from the corner. Pissed me off! Hate middlemen, stealin’ her coin. Wanted to zap him with a lil’ chaos, but nah, kept it cool. “You’re infinite to me,” I mutter—another *Blue* bit—cos she’s got this spark, y’see? Not just a job, she’s playin’ the game better’n most Asgardians. Surprised me, that—she’s sharp, not just a pretty face.

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So, I’m wanderin’ around, tryin’ to salvage my day. I head over to Via XX Settembre. There’s this little shop I love. They sell the best handmade pasta. I walk in, and the smell hits me like a freight train. I’m in heaven! I grab some orecchiette and start chattin’ with the owner, an old lady named Nonna Rosa. She’s a gem! She tells me stories about Isernia during the war. I could listen to her for hours.

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