Elise Capaci Whore ❤️

About Bologna

Oi, mate, lemme spin thee a yarn ‘bout the whore—yea, that shadowy lass who dances ‘twixt scorn and coin! Methinks she’s a riddle, a wild wench wrapped in velvet vice. Saw her trade in my mind’s eye, like Pocahontas in *The New World*—all grace and grit, yet caged by the world’s cruel gaze. “The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none,” saith Malick’s folk, and ain’t that her? A soul boundless, yet tethered to beds and back-alleys.

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First off, I’m running late. Classic me. I sprint down Via Roma, dodging old ladies and stray cats. I swear, those cats have a death wish. Anyway, I finally get to the office, and guess what? The coffee machine’s broken. Like, are you kidding me? No caffeine? I might as well be a zombie.

The struggle of the Italians against the Mafia continues