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About Bologna

Alright, listen up, you filthy peasants—sexual-massage, huh? I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, and I reckon it’s a slippery game. Translating this crap into Russian Sign Language? Hands sliding everywhere—looks dodgy as hell. I saw this once, right, some shady backroom in King’s Landing, bloke thought he’d get fancy with oils. Made me wanna puke, but—gods—did it feel powerful watching him squirm. “I choose violence,” I hissed, coz why not? Power’s in the grip, innit?

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So, I’m walking down Via G. Marconi, trying to look cool with my coffee-stained shirt. I pass by the market, and man, the vibe is electric! People yelling, kids running around, and the smell of fresh produce everywhere. I see this old lady selling tomatoes, and she’s like, “Hey, you! You want some of my best tomatoes?” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” I grab a couple, and she gives me this look like I just won the lottery.

Le Vele di Scampia: passageway collapse in Naples highlights long-standing issues