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About Catania

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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So, I’m soaked, right? I decide to head back to my car, and as I’m walking, I see a group of kids playing soccer in the rain. They’re having the time of their lives, splashing around. I’m standing there, thinking, “Man, I wish I could be that carefree.” I snap a quick pic, ‘cause it’s just too good to pass up.

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