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About Catania

I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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After that chaos, I head to my office. You know, the usual actuary stuff—numbers, spreadsheets, and trying not to fall asleep. But then, my boss walks in. He’s all hyped up about some new project. “We’re gonna revolutionize the insurance industry!” he says. I’m like, “Bro, it’s insurance, not a rock concert.” But whatever, I nod and pretend to care.

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