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About Bari

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, outta nowhere, my buddy Luca strolls in. He’s all hyped up, talkin’ about some festival on Via Torino. “Dude, you gotta check it out! Food, music, the whole shebang!” I’m thinkin’, “I can’t leave the shop! I got watches to fix!” But then I remember the last time I missed a festival. Ugh, FOMO hit hard.

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