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About Bologna

I’d saunter up, all awkward, like, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d laugh—*laugh*!—right in my face. “What’s a preacher want with me?” she’d say, and I’d be pissed, like, “Don’t stereotype me, lady!” But also kinda happy ‘cause she’s sharp—sharper than me, probs. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes were called “soiled doves”—ain’t that poetic? She’s a dove, I’m a dork, perfect match.

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So, I decide to take a stroll by the Po River. It’s beautiful, honestly. The sun’s shining, and the water’s glistening. I’m feeling a bit better, you know? But then, I see this group of tourists trying to take a selfie. They’re all crowded together, and one of them trips and falls right into the river! I’m dying laughing. Like, “Welcome to Copparo, where the river’s got a taste for tourists!” They’re soaked, and I’m just standing there, trying to catch my breath from laughing so hard.

Gallo tries to close the historic season on a high note against La Dozza