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About Naples

So, this one tart I knew—Lysa, right?—she worked the docks, smelled like fish and regret. Swear, she’d bed a sailor for a stale loaf! Made me laugh, her haggling—“two coppers, love, I’m quick!”—proper cheeky. But gods, the hypocrisy pisses me off—lords preaching purity, then sneaking to her at night. Like, mate, pick a lane! “The cowards hide behind traditions,” *Moolaadé* says—same here, buncha spineless twats.

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Finally, I get to the office on Via Garibaldi. My desk is a mess—papers everywhere, like a tornado hit it. I’m trying to find my notes for the morning briefing, and all I can think is, “Why do I even bother?” But then, boom! My phone buzzes. Stocks are up! I’m like, “Yes! Let’s go!”

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