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About Naples

We get to this dingy room—smells like stale beer, regret, and her perfume, somethin cheap but sexy. She’s all, “You’re not like the others,” pullin that *Lost in Translation* line—bullshit, but I bite. I’m thinkin, *This is my Tokyo, my fleeting connection.* Greed’s hummin—wantin more than I paid for, pushin limits. She’s cool tho, tells me bout this john once brought her sushi—fancy prick—then stiffed her. We laugh, I’m like, “Sushi guy’s a dick, I’m cash upfront!”

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I close up the café, and as I’m walking home, I can’t help but think about all the craziness. Camaiore is wild, man. One minute you’re chasing a dog, the next you’re hearing stories from old-timers.

Is the St. John the Baptist on display in Camaiore by Caravaggio?