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About Bologna

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

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First off, I’m running late. Classic me, right? I sprint outta my apartment on Via Roma, dodging the usual morning crowd. You know, the old folks with their dogs, the kids on bikes, and the baristas at Caffè del Centro already buzzing. I grab a quick espresso—like, I need that caffeine fix to survive this madness.

Stabbings at the shopping centre: the attacker from Assago sentenced to 19 years