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About Catania

So, I’m milkin’ cows, right? And I’m thinkin’, whores got it rough—people judgin’, actin’ all high and mighty. Pisses me off! Like, who’re you to say shit? Back in the day, heard this story—some whore in old NYC, 1800s, ran a whole secret bar outta her crib. Cops didn’t even know! Ballsy, right? Made me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the man, livin’ her way. “The past lingers like smoke”—that’s her, bro, smokin’ hot and untouchable.

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Anyway, I finally get to the garden, which is on Via Garibaldi. It’s this beautiful little patch of green, you know? Flowers everywhere, veggies growing like they’re on steroids. I’m proud of my work. But then, I notice something. The tomatoes! They’re wilting! I’m like, “No, no, no! Not my babies!” I rush over, and guess what? Some kid from the neighborhood decided it’d be fun to play soccer in my garden. I mean, come on! Who does that? I’m fuming, ready to unleash my inner Hulk.

luca poian envisions self-supporting timber footbridge at parco del lura