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About Catania

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Then I roll down Zuni Ave. and see this street performer. He’s doin’ some crazy dance, right? I’m talkin’ like he’s possessed or somethin’. I’m laughin’ so hard, I almost forgot I was in a combine. I mean, who knew Zuni had talent like that? I tossed him a couple bucks. He looked at me like I was a freakin’ angel.

One great cookbook: 'The Zuni Café Cookbook' by Judy Rodgers