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About Bologna

Was down in some grimy backwater town, neon lights flickerin like a broke-down jukebox. Wanted to see what the fuss was bout, ya know? Git-R-Done! I ain’t no saint, but I was curiouser than a cat in a yarn shop. Rolled up to this dive bar—smelled like stale beer and regret. Bartender, big ol’ fella with a lazy eye, says, “Boy, you lookin fer company?” I’m like, “Hell yeah, point me the way!” He nods to this gal in the corner, fishnets ripped to hell, smokin a cig like she’s mad at it.

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But then, this sweet old lady comes out. She’s like, “Oh dear, let me help you!” She hands me a band-aid. I’m thinking, “Wow, this lady’s a lifesaver.” We chat for a bit, and she tells me stories about Albignasego back in the day. It’s kinda heartwarming, you know?

French workers threaten to blow up factory