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About Catania

So, I hit up Newark, shady spots, y’know? Where the lights flicker like they’re drunk. This chick, she’s standin’ there, leanin’ on a pole, skirt shorter than my patience. I roll up, window down, “Hey, sweetheart, you workin’?” She’s like, “Maybe, whatchu got?” I’m thinkin’, “I don’t even know anymore,” like Bill Murray mumblin’ to Scarlett Johansson. That line, “The more you know who you are,” yeah, it’s spinnin’ in my head, but I’m too horny to care.

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Answer 1 of 5: Is there anything to do in Neuvo Progresso other than shop and get medical care? Any parks or museums? What hotels are best?

First up is Marco. Kid’s 17, thinks he’s the next F1 champ. He hops in the car, all cocky. I’m like, “Dude, chill. You gotta learn to drive before you can drift.” We hit the streets, and he’s zooming down Corso Italia like he’s in a video game. I’m gripping the “oh crap” handle, praying we don’t end up in the canal.

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