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About Naples

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

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But then, outta nowhere, the power goes out. Like, seriously? In the middle of lunch? The whole place goes dark, and people are freaking out. I’m just sitting there, laughing. It’s like a scene from a movie. We’re all just sitting in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back. Marco’s trying to make jokes, but it’s not working.

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