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About Bologna

Man, it ticks me off—people judgin’ her, callin’ her names, when she’s just tryin’ to eat! Makes me madder than a wet hen! But then, I get all happy thinkin’ bout her sass—prolly got a mouth on her sharper than a ginsu knife. “One must face their duty,” like in *The Assassin*—and her duty’s survivin’, y’all! She’s out there, dodgin’ cops, dealin’ with creeps—once heard a story ‘bout a gal like her in New Orleans who conned a john outta his boots *and* his horse! True story—well, maybe. Sounds badass, tho!

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I start blasting away, and it’s like therapy. The sound, the pressure, it’s all so satisfying. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and lands right on my shoulder. I’m like, “Dude, what’s your deal?” I’m flailing my arms, trying to shoo it away, and it just looks at me like I’m the crazy one. I mean, c’mon!

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