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About Naples

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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As the sun sets, the sky turns this amazing shade of orange. I’m feeling all the feels. Happy, sad, confused. It’s like Santarcangelo is reflecting my mood. I grab some dinner at a little trattoria. The pasta is to die for. I mean, who needs a boyfriend when you have carbs, am I right?

Santarcangelo falls in Montegranaro, decisive game 3 at PalaSgr